


Whiskey and Communion

by peeramum



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Triggers, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peeramum/pseuds/peeramum
Summary: After some convincing, she snuck out of her and her father’s shared apartment late that night to meet up with her beau in the event room. Upon arrival, she noticed that the room was completely empty, and after slumping to the ground in the corner closest to the door, she soon realized that she was being stood up. Just as she was about to stand up to leave, a familiar figure entered the darkness of the room and crept towards her slowly.





	1. Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some convincing, she snuck out of her and her father’s shared apartment late that night to meet up with her beau in the event room. Upon arrival, she noticed that the room was completely empty, and after slumping to the ground in the corner closest to the door, she soon realized that she was being stood up. Just as she was about to stand up to leave, a familiar figure entered the darkness of the room and crept towards her slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbelievable! I read through this after it was posted and realized that there was a conflict between italicized words and punctuation, creating spaces in between the punctuation and letters. It looked so bad! I hope this didn’t deter anyone from reading my story! I know grammar is a big deal to many readers, myself included. D: sorry, but it’s fixed now!!

**Friday, October 16th, 2266. 6:36pm**

_“No, Dad. It reeks. Like_ **_fucking_ ** _cheese.”_

That Friday evening was the first and last time Bethany’s father had ever laid a hand on her in any manner that was unkind. Beth had never shown evidence of being a wayward child by any means, and therefore had never suffered at the end of anyone’s belt, but James, after hearing his daughter continuously swearing in front of him for two weeks straight, decided it best that she learn _then,_  at the age of ten, that even though she had her very own Pip-Boy and responsibilities, she still had years before she was an _actual_ adult. The repeatedly spoken lesson of _stop saying those words, Beth_ was simply not working on its own, and after speaking to nearly every parent in the vault about her garish behavior and language, he believed physicality to be the only way to deter his daughter from that sort of behavior. He only realized his mistake as he saw the absolute fear in her eyes and recognized it to be the same type of fear she displayed after getting into a scrap with one of the boys in the hallway. Immediately after the positive reinforcement, he began to regret his actions and did whatever he could for the rest of the day to make up for the spanking. With the experience being as painful as it was to both James _and_ Beth, it was something the good doctor vowed to never do again.

It worked for the child, nonetheless. Beth didn’t utter a single swear word around her father again until several years had passed and she began to trust that he would find humor in her _newfound_ language choices.

From that punishment forward, however, Beth had learned how to take a hit from a man, be it belts or fists, so she grew less and less intimidated by her child bullies and more and more straight when it came to defending herself.

It came as a shock to nearly every dweller in the vault that Beth had finally began to stand up for herself and her best friend physically in fights, and it became more of a problem for the Tunnel Snakes, as it was harder to intimidate the young woman without winding up with a socked jaw. They settled for hurling insults at her and Amata down the hallways instead of doing physical damage to them in fear of retaliation from their prey.

At least until they all hit puberty.

As the girls grew, so did the boys. To the boys’ advantage, they became strong men, but the girls simply developed fat in places where it was unwelcome in a young girl’s mind. Therefore, the boys could do more and more damage to the girls with their strength as time passed them by.

Such damage included ganging up on Beth, alone in the lower levels of the vault, where they would catch her as she went to do whatever _freakshow_ activities she enjoyed in her spare time, cornering her against the metallic walls and kicking her repeatedly in the gut until she could no longer stand and swing punches to defend herself. The Tunnel Snakes would snicker and insult Bethany as they watched her, weak and fearful, but brave nonetheless, pull to her feet to brace herself for more abuse, all but willing to defend her honor, despite losing the battle every time. Afterwards, they would leave her in the sublevels and listen to her cries for _Daddy_ and _fuck you slimy reptilian fucks_ as they trailed off up the vault steps giggling goofily at their sin.

While that happened on multiple occasions as they grew into adolescence, there was a most tragic event that stuck out to Beth in particular. It occurred one Sunday morning in the event room that was used every Sunday morning by many, but not universally, as a chapel. On a chair sat thirteen year old Beth, her hair in two beautifully weaved ropes of fiery auburn draping her shoulders, tied at the ends with golden ribbons, and a smattering of ever so subtle freckles dotting the area underneath her earthy green eyes and across her nose, all features contrasting the bright blue and gold of her Vault 101 jumpsuit. She listened intently and with an open mind as Stanley spoke the word of the _Lord_ from the _Holy Bible_ as she desperately tried to piece together every single sentence, even though they didn’t make much sense to the young woman. _An ark with two of each animal? No such vessel would even have the space required for_ **_two_ ** _of_ **_every_ ** _animal._ Still, her father insisted on his child sitting through Stanley’s rushed and befuddling sermons at least twice a month in lieu of Catherine’s ghost haunting his thoughts if he didn’t introduce Christianity to their only child.

After that day’s sermon, a young Freddie Gomez approached Beth in the so-called chapel, simply gushing over the fact that she had worn her hair in anything other than a sloppy ponytail and complimented her genuinely.

_“Beth, you look...well, you look beautiful today.”_

It struck her as quite odd that Freddie would compliment her out of the blue, but she indulged in his compliment nonetheless, as the boys in the vault weren’t exactly lining up to dance with her out of mutual hatred.

_“Why, thank you, Freddie.”_

He then nervously insisted that she meet him in the event room that night so that they could have a moment of alone time _without any parents._ Of course, Beth agreed, and from there they cordially parted and she scurried off to tell her best friend Amata the news.

 _“You have a_ **_date_** _?!”_

 _“_ ** _No!_ ** _It’s just the event room.”_

 _“Yeah, but you’re gonna be_ **_alone_ ** _in the event room! With_ **_Freddie the Freak!_** _”_

Beth argued with Amata that it was a good idea for herself, despite her best friend’s protests and hushed whispers about how Freddie wasn’t even attractive.

 _“He’s better than anyone else in this tub, especially those_ **_Tunnel Snakes_** _.”_

After some convincing, she snuck out of her and her father’s shared apartment late that night to meet up with her beau in the event room. Upon arrival, she noticed that the room was completely empty, and after slumping to the ground in the corner closest to the door, she soon realized that she was being stood up. Just as she was about to stand up to leave, a familiar figure entered the darkness of the room and crept towards her slowly.

_“Freddie?”_

It was _not_ Freddie. It was Butch DeLoria, cackling as he turned the corner, and suddenly the rest of his gang plus Freddie emerged from the shadows of the room, seizing her, despite her flailing and punches. They dragged her towards an exposed pipe in the wall and worked swiftly, tying the struggling girl down to the pipe by her braids. They wrapped the braids around the pipe so tightly that it hurt, tugging painfully at her scalp, and she began to cry, peeling at the tendrils of hair, desperately trying to free herself, all while swearing at the boys and threatening them. Butch sneered and out he strode with the gang, Freddie trailing at their heels. The young teen frowned guiltily at Beth before following the crowd.

When her father found her the next morning after waking up and frantically searching, he tried his best to untangle his daughter and salvage her hair as she wept in his arms, begging him to help her and _save my hair for goodness sake_. In the end, the ties were too tight and tangled up and her father ended up chopping both of her beautiful auburn braids in order to get her off of the pipe, leaving her with a rather short and jagged bob. That morning, she did not go to class, and instead, her father treated her to a trip to the hairdresser where her hair could be made to look decent.

That next Tuesday morning, Beth rocked her short locks and strode confidently into class with her new ‘do, bracing herself for whatever insults were bound to come her way.

 _“Wow, look, Snakes, she looks like a_ **_boy!_ ** _Hah! I guess that makes you a_ **_queer_** _, then, Freddie!”_

In short, Beth found out that Freddie had stood her up only to impress the Tunnel Snakes, but in the end, it was just another failed attempt at trying to fit in. Not only had he failed to get into the gang, but he missed out on a potential friendship with the vault’s other signature weirdo.

Despite her tears, Beth remained strong through every bullying scenario and refused to take any of it without retaliating. The one ass-whooping was the core of the reason why she would survive so well out in the wasteland.

All of this reminiscing, of course, brings us back to the present.

* * *

 

**Saturday, April 14th, 2277. 7:30am**

Beth was quietly studying the effects of radiation on the skin in the clinic half past 7 in the morning, thirty minutes before clinic officially opened, when she heard someone banging at the door. She glanced up over her dark-rimmed glasses to see if there was anyone near the window, but there was no figure. Clapping her textbook shut, she cautiously stalked over towards the window to peer out through the blinds, only to see her best friend Amata standing near the door patiently with weary eyes.

“I _know_ you’re in there, Beth!”

Beth let out an exasperated sigh and smacked the door release button with the palm of her hand, feeling the cool vault air rush in from the hall once the door hissed open.

“The clinic doesn’t open for another thirty, _ma’am_. _Take a number_.”

Beth hovered her hand over the button again in annoyance, about to apply pressure before Amata spoke against it.

“ _No!_ Beth, come _on!”_ Amata folded her arms across her chest and bit her lip, jerking her head slightly to keep a stray strand of deep brunette out of her line of sight. “You’re being a _child_ , Beth. It’s not as big a deal as you think it is.”

“ _Look, Tamata,_ I’ve got work to do. _Buzz off._ ” She palmed the vault door button again and watched as Amata’s face disappeared behind it, her next sentence muffled by the door.

“I’m just gonna stand out here until you open!”

“Go ahead and stand there for _thirty minutes_ , then!”

After a note of silence, Amata raised her voice again, insinuating seriousness. “I didn’t _mean_ for it to come out that way, Beth! _Please believe_ that I had absolutely _no_ intention of slandering your father! That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

“Amata,” Beth began, drawing closer to her father’s desk in the office. “Piss off!”

Beth heard a grunt of temporary defeat on the other side of the door, but she knew better than to assume that Amata had left. The young lady was persistent in more ways than one, and she was bound and determined to make amends with her best friend.

The pages of the radiation textbook swished as pale fingers flipped through them, fanning hanging locks of burnt orange slightly with every turn. Amata’s intercom announcement from the morning before rang throughout her mind, shifting her focus from the textbook information to the slander her friend had committed about the person she held most dear.

 _“Dr. Wood made it very clear that he was in no condition to work next week,_ **_as that seems to be the default these days._ ** _The Overseer has instead appointed Dr. Wood’s assistants Jonas Palmer and Bethany Wood to take care of any residential ailments until the doctor can get back on his feet. If you have any questions, please come by the Overseer’s office. Thank you.”_

**...as that seems to be the default these days.**

_As_ **_if_ ** _that wasn’t meant to be a jab,_ Beth thought to herself. She had since been catching the ass end of the insult ever since it had been spoken what with residents chattering amongst themselves about how _he isn’t doing his job like he used to_ and _I doubt he’s even really sick_. On top of that, Butch DeLoria had made a petty jab about the doctor being _lousy_ to Beth’s face, causing her to shift in behavior, and if it wasn’t for the fact that she would possibly lose her job, she would’ve torn him a whole new ass. Then, half of the Mack clan approached her and questioned if her father was even fit to be a physician anymore. Punting each and every one of the stupid Mack clan would’ve been _ideal_. All of this sent Miss Beth over the edge enough to where she marched herself over to Amata’s quarters and chewed her out _completely_ before shattering her tableside lamp and revoking their many years of solidified friendship.

The ticking clock was slowly driving Beth _insane_. What made it even worse was knowing that Amata would stride in as soon as the clinic was opened and absolutely nothing would prevent her determination from seeping through. As if slandering her own father didn’t do enough damage, but now she was refusing to give Beth the space to think about things? Lined eyelids pressed together before opening again, and the radiation textbook went soaring through the office, landing with a _smack_ on the cold floor. She shot up suddenly and paced towards the door, pressing the release once more.

“I guess I could open up early–”

Her voice was cut off as she realized that the hallway was empty. Not a dweller in sight and she’d already committed to an early opening. _Figures._

“Well, it’s still open.”

Beth retreated back into the office to clean up the minor mess she had made in frustration. _Why would Amata–_

Heavily booted steps strode confidently into the clinic suddenly, and Bethany soon realized that she was, quite literally, a cornered rat.

“Hey _feeb_ , I’m gonna need your _services._ ”

The smug voice belonged to none other than Wally Mack. The redhead nearly cringed at the sight of him and his dreary facial features.

Whipping around to face him, Beth eyed him suspiciously, mentally checking his exterior for any bumps or bruises. _Nada._

Wally noticed that she was giving him a once-over. “You _eyeballing_ me?”

“Mr. Mack, I’m quite busy at the moment, but speak to Butch if you want something done about that pencil eraser hairdo of yours.”

It was true. Wally Mack looked like a pencil with that buzz cut of his, and his face being so _Wally_ didn’t help pull it off in the slightest. How Butch could let his _best friend_ suffer from such a dreadful clip was beyond the thoughts of Beth.

“Look, I have enough headaches, nurse. I don’t need any from you.” He inched towards Beth, causing her to stumble over her own feet in order to keep the distance from closing in.

Staring at his imposing figure, she gave him a weakened smile. “Very well, Wally. Skipping the formalities, it seems. What made you decide to take a trip to the clinic so early in the morning?”

He bit his lip and glared at her, and if her eyes weren’t shielded by her lenses, they’d almost certainly be burnt out. “ _Headaches,_ like I _said._  Just prescribe me some damned aspirin.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for Jonas to clock in before any prescriptions can be filled.” Beth glanced at the door, hoping to find her father’s assistant, but nothing was present except for emptiness. She shifted all her weight onto one foot. “I’m merely the pharmacist. Jonas is the only one who can diagnose you besides my father. I’m still undergoing a rather strict training regimen.”

Wally’s mouth twisted into an unfavorable grimace. “I don’t have _time_ to wait on _Palmer_ , square. Give me the aspirin.”

“No, Wally,” she stated firmly, standing her ground. “That is _not_ how things work. You _will_ wait, just as every other patient has to. Hence, the word _patient_.”

Wally stepped towards her again and she inched away until her back was against the wall. He eyed her now with his eyes of fire just to see if she would squirm. _Nothing_.

“Have a seat if you wish,” Beth mumbled, averting her eyes to the camera lens across the hall before excusing herself and slipping away from his intimidating death stare to finish what she was occupied with before he arrived. “He should be here any moment. Likes to come in early, as it were, but I managed to beat him to it this morning. With Father–”

“ _Shut the hell up, you crazy Brit._ We aren’t friends. _Don’t_ talk to me like we are.”

One of her eyebrows quirked upward and her green eyes glowered at her patient, who was becoming more of an intruder. She’d officially had enough of him, and it was only 7:43 in the morning. “Wally Mack, this is _my territory_ you’re standing in. It’d be wise of you to take your predatory instincts elsewhere. Otherwise, shove them up your ass for a few minutes while we wait patiently for the physician’s assistant like two civilized individuals. You may think you rule this vault, but this clinic is meant for _healing_. Leave your bullshit at the door and sit the _fuck_ down if you want anything to help with your headaches.”

He scowled and began to take another step before she put her hand up, eyes pinning the camera lens again. “You _know_ better. You and your boys may deal with me later in however way you see it fit, but right now, I’m doing my job, and the Overseer is watching.”

“So what?”

With that, he pinned her against the wall, raising an arm to land an unforgiving blow to her faintly freckled cheek. A burning sensation shot throughout the area where the impact had occurred, and on instinct, Beth raised her hand to her cheek, touching the glowing red skin. She looked at him in horror as he grinned and found himself a seat in the waiting room. The springs of the sofa creaked where he sat his giant ass.

“The Overseer won’t do _shit_.”

Beth shook herself back to earth and strode back into the office to retrieve some paperwork before strolling back into the waiting room, shoving the papers into his hands. Her voice cracked as she spoke her piece, unsure of what he would do next. “To think you’re confident enough to assume that I won’t botch your prescription. Inform me later of what it’s like to be so arrogant.” She glared in his direction before scurrying back towards her father’s desk. “Jot down your symptoms while we wait. You’re _not_ getting the aspirin until Jonas decides you need it, and that’s that.”

It was more than typical of a Tunnel Snake to be able to get away with physical assault, and especially on a woman. Over the years, the Overseer had grown lenient to their delinquency, looking the other way when something went awry. It’d been the reason why Beth had gained so many bruises on her pale skin. Amata was a different story, but that was only because she was Alphonse’s daughter. Even _he_ wouldn’t tolerate physical abuse towards _his_ child. Every other innocent in the vault was fair game for their bullying, and luckily for Beth, she was almost always the brightest painted target.

Before Wally had any chance to fire a retort, Jonas ducked into the clinic with a small wave, armed with a stack of papers. “Mornin’, kiddos.”

“Ah, good morning, Jonas,” Bethany called from the back room, relief lingering in her voice. “Did you sleep alright for a change?”

Wally scoffed as he scribbled words on the papers, cutting off the conversation. “Palmer, I need an examination. Or you could just give me some aspirin.”

Jonas laid his papers down on his own desk before returning to the waiting room. He motioned for Wally to come into the back room so that he could begin the examination. As the Tunnel Snake passed by Beth, he smacked her in the back of the head before having a seat on the examination cot.

The examination didn’t take very long, and after a few minutes, Jonas had Beth filling out a prescription for some headache medication. _Fluorescent lighting causing persistent and severe headache and nausea. Prevents patient from working some days. Take 2 capsules every 24 hours as needed._ Passing the pill bottle to Wally, she gave him a stern look, indicating seriousness. “Please do as the label says and it should ease the pain. I know these lights can be downright straining on the eye.”

Without another word, the bully was off. Jonas glanced over his frames at Beth before thumbing through Wally’s paperwork one last time. “He give you any trouble?”

“You didn’t see him hit me just then, I assume?” Beth rotated in her desk chair back and forth, bringing out what was left of her childlike behavior. “The barbarian waltzed in early this morning _demanding_ that I give him aspirin without a physician’s permission, and when I refused, he slapped me clear across the cheek.” A slender finger tapped the red area that stood out from the rest of her snowy skin. “The proof is in the security office, but I’m sure his whole family has turned a blind eye to his continuously wretched actions.”

“You’d think,” Jonas replied, eyes still fixed on the paperwork. “The Overseer seems disinterested in correcting the gang activity.”

“I’m sure if it was physically affecting Amata, he would in an instant.”

Chatter between the two scientists continued for a few short minutes before the patients started coming in every now and again. It was a slow day, as usual in the vault, but residents mostly came for their prescriptions or minor things, like a mild cough or something along the lines. The cold epidemic that swept up Dr. Wood was spreading, affecting citizens one by one, but many were too stubborn to go see Jonas about it. _Just another bad cold._ And it _was_ merely another bad cold, probably lying dormant within one of the residents, passed on to the good doctor through one measly cough. Everyone underground would catch it eventually, which is why Miss Wood and Jonas Palmer were so adamant on giving checkups.

* * *

 

Twelve o’clock rolled around, and Jonas insisted that Beth take the first lunch break. Beth swiftly padded out the door to head down to the diner where she could grab a meal. “I’ll return in an hour.”

The diner was bustling at this hour, with many of the residents in line to grab a bite to eat on their lunch breaks. Beth noticed the worry lines forming on Pepper Gomez’ forehead as she frantically tried to keep up with everyone’s orders. She frequently called out to the other two workers so that they would be able to prepare the food. Bethany pressed her mouth into a thin line and averted her eyes to her Pip-Boy while she waited patiently behind Christine Kendall in the queue. She had an hour for her break, so there would be plenty of time to eat and collect her thoughts.

Once she reached the beginning of the line, she ordered a bowl of tomato soup to warm herself from the chilly draft, taking a seat in a booth close to the farthest corner of the diner, relying on isolation. Almost everyone in the vault was in an inquisitive mood about her father’s temporary absence, and Beth was not in the mood to deal with anyone’s condescending tone. However, as soon as she took her seat, a familiar figure approached her booth with a corner of his mouth quirked upward to form a smug smirk. He slid into the booth across from her and pressed his palms to the table, looking her dead in the eyes.

“Looks _delicious_ there, Nurse _Handy_ ,” the voice spoke up overbearingly. “I think I might have a taste.”

Beth pressed her first two fingers to her temple, using her other hand to spoon some of the soup into her mouth. “It’s _bland_ , Butch, much like everything else in this vault.” Her mossy eyes settled on his own watery blue ones. “Including you. Please go find a seat elsewhere.”

He grinned, flashing his pearly whites, which revealed the very beginning of tobacco staining on the teeth. “Hey, I didn’t even wanna eat after _you_ , anyway, Poindexter. But this is my seat now.”

“What are you? Five? Get lost, serpent, before I deploy my repellent.”

Butch snickered and leaned into the table, closer to Beth. He dipped a calloused finger into her soup bowl, swirled it around, and flicked it at her face, cackling as it landed on her glasses lens. “ _Whoops_.”

Biting the inside of her lip, Beth pulled a napkin from its holder on the table and blotted her lens. She clenched her jaw, observing the smug face her childhood enemy was making. “My lunch is _ruined_ , parasite.”

“Oh, my _pleasure_ , Doc.”

As usual, ruining her day was just as the DeLoria boy intended. It was as if he opened his eyes every single day of his life looking forward to _making_ her day. It had been that way ever since they were young children. The purpose of his mental and physical degradation was still unknown to Beth, but she chalked it up to the fact that he had simply been a problem child from the moment he came out of the womb kicking and screaming. It never failed, and Beth feared that she would never find the peace in this vault that she truly deserved.

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your life than to deliberately bother me, DeLoria?”

He pulled the bowl of soup towards himself with a hooked pointed finger, fixating his eyes on the contents alone. Beth nudged the spoon across the table for him to use.

“Oh, by all means, eat _my_ food.” Green irises bore into the young man as he was preoccupied with her meal. “Help yourself.”

“Hey, the line’s too damn long. I ain’t waitin’ that long just to end up eatin’ _this_ shit.” He slurped a spoonful of piping red. “I got fifteen minutes.”

Beth stood up, feeling completely over the conversation, bumping the table so hard that the contents of the bowl overflowed onto Butch’s jumpsuit, seeping through the blue. His smirk contorted into something awful.

“ _Whoops_.” She smirked at his anger. “See you around, DeLoria.”

“Oh, you’re gonna _get it_ , Doc!”

She hurriedly trailed out of the now packed diner, deciding to just skip her lunch break entirely. _Of course_ she would get it. She _always_ got it. In public wasn’t usually the place, but the hostilities continued behind closed doors almost every time something happened between her and the Tunnel Snakes. They would probably catch her in the hallway after work on her way back to her apartment and berate her, constant insults flowing from both sides. It had been a never ending war for over a decade between them, and if someone were to keep score of the wins, the Tunnel Snakes would have the higher number, but Bethany wouldn’t be too far behind.

Their next encounter certainly wouldn’t play out any differently.


	2. Chapter 2: Gunplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth sat on that statement, taking it with a grain of salt. Why did she enjoy shooting so much? It was prohibited, useless, and possibly a waste of time. What drew her to the lowest levels of the vault late at night when no one would be around to bother her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbelievable! I read through this after it was posted and realized that there was a conflict between italicized words and punctuation, creating spaces in between the punctuation and letters. It looked so bad! I hope this didn’t deter anyone from reading my story! I know grammar is a big deal to many readers, myself included. D: sorry, but it’s fixed now!!

**Thursday, April 19th, 2277. 11:41pm**

Beth had remained cautious for the following few days after her encounter with the worst two gang members that lived in the vault, constantly looking over her shoulder wherever she traveled to make sure no one was in her shadow. The routine had been the same ever since. She would trudge to work in the early hours of the morning to fill prescriptions and study medicine during the slow hours. During lunch, she went to the diner almost every day, but there was no sign of any Tunnel Snake. Paul Hannon Jr. once passed by in the hallway, causing her to eye him cautiously, but he didn’t seem to be paying any mind to her presence. Then again, Paul had never been the type to do anything violent without Butch and Wally influencing him to.

Still, it raised suspicion in Beth’s mind, leading her to overthink things and distracting her from her daily duties. It seemed odd that they wouldn’t even try to pick a fight after she smarted off to two out of three members, and even though Wally Mack was beginning to grow distant from Butch and Paul and their rebellious gang ideals, he would still most likely retaliate to the aspirin situation that played out the Saturday before.

She often thought fondly of the time when they were all young children, perhaps at the sweet age of five or six years, when they all managed to get along with each other. The children weren’t necessarily _friends_ by any means, but there was a short period of time when they could all speak together and hold civilized conversations about comic book characters and _wow I wonder what super mutants look like._ Bethany, Amata, _and_ Butch had all shared a somewhat special bond as very young children due to the fact that they were each missing a key factor in their lives: one parent.

This, of course, was before the boys had begun to grow suspicious of the girls and their _feminine germs._ The only reason that Christine Kendall and Susie Mack were safe was because they were related to Wally. Butch had grown distant from the other two girls once he saw that their fathers _actually_ showed genuine interest in their achievements, and eventually became jealous as his own drunkard of a mother was not the same way. As a result, he began to criticize the ‘daddy’s girl’ narrative, bloody their noses out of jealousy and resentment and give them hell, and soon after, his two friends followed suit.

Things were always worse for Bethany especially, due to the fact that her and her father, the good doctor, were two peas in a pod. Everything that James did he made sure to bring his baby girl along for the ride. Their close bond and hours James spent in the clinic teaching his bright-eyed young redhead medical terminology piqued Bethany’s interest in medicine, and she followed in his footsteps to make him proud. She admired her father so much that she quickly developed his thick English accent, as well, as his way was the correct way to talk in her eyes. James couldn’t walk anywhere without having young Bethany as his shadow, and it made him proud throughout every second. The world had abruptly ended centuries before, yet despite it all, he still managed to take part in creating the most beautiful, elegant, classy and intelligent young woman, and he truly believed that God had laid out his tracks for him in a way that was so perfectly hand-crafted. She was simply made for him and by him, for the pair was definitely a match made in Heaven. He only wished that his wife Catherine could be there to perfect their wonderful family.

The warmth of her father’s forehead heated the back of Beth’s hand when pressed gently against it. His eyes were closed, but he couldn’t get a wink of rest it seemed. “ _Goodness_ , Daddy, your fever is getting worse every time I check on you. Are you sure this is just a cold?”

“It’s not so bad, sweetie,” he replied in a hushed and hoarse tone, his throat cracking, manipulating the sound of his thick accent. “I’m quite sure.”

His daughter, perched on the edge of his bed, frowned. “Yes, but a high fever isn’t any ordinary symptom of a cold.” She pressed a damp towel to his forehead. “Especially not for a grown man.”

James smiled softly and looked his daughter in the eyes. “You’ve certainly done your homework, Bethany.” To this, Beth gave him a weak smile.

She stood tall, pacing wearily to her father’s apartment door. “Are you _sure_ you’ll be alright if I turn in for the night, Daddy? _Absolutely_ sure?”

“Yes, honey. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she replied, pressing the door release. “I’ll come back before work in the morning to check on you again. Try to get some rest. Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Bethany.”

Ensuring the door was locked, Beth weaved her way throughout the hallways of the vault to reach her usual late-night destination: the reactor level. Shooting BBs always put her mind at ease during a long, stressful week. She rifled through a large metal bin until she reached the bottom, her hand grazing the surface of a steel lockbox. Beth tugged at the rosary-beaded chain resting around her neck and retrieved the crucifix-shaped key, decorated identically in match to the lockbox. It was the key to the ornate box that contained her old BB rifle she had received on her tenth birthday. The lock clicked open and the young woman was soon shooting targets in the makeshift range, the metal targets rotating as the ammo collided with them with a metallic _ping_.

Beth’s aim improved greatly over the years, and since she had been practicing for nearly a decade, she was able to hit the dead center of the target almost every time. Target shooting came as naturally as medicine to Beth, and even though it was an unnecessary skill to have, as she would never be able to put it to use, it was very comforting for her. Satisfaction came with every single shot, and every shot counted. She had been recycling the ammunition all those years.

Lining up the sights, Bethany maimed another target. _Plink_. Only this time, the target didn’t rotate the full 360 degrees.

“Shit,” Beth murmured under her breath, stepping over the barrier wall. She waltzed over to the target and slapped it into place, then rotated the spindle again to make sure it had enough oil. Realizing it was lacking, she plucked the oil canister from its resting place behind one of the targets and began to lubricate the axel. Giving it one last nudge, a conclusion was made that it was good to go. She placed the canister back on the ground and started walking back to the barrier wall until she heard heavy footsteps pacing behind the range’s large steel door. “ _Shit_.”

The door hissed open, and her temporary demise was standing in the doorway, smirking once he recognized the shape of darkened silhouette belonged to Bethany. “Well well, if it ain’t little Psalms. What’re ya doin’ down in the reactor level at this hour, huh?”

Her eyes shifted to the BB gun for a split second before meeting with his. “Oh, Mr. DeLoria. What a _pleasant_ surprise.”

Butch’s gaze followed hers and settled on the weapon, his eyes suddenly growing wide. He then met with her eyes again, his mouth forming a surprised ‘O’ shape. “Is that a fuckin’ gun, Psalms?” He took a step towards the weapon.

“No, of course it isn’t, _oaf_ ,” she replied, venom resting on her tongue. “It’s an ah...ah…”

“Gun.”

“No, _no_. It’s none of _your_ concern.”

His eyes narrowed, watching her every move like a predator stalking its prey. Beth knew she was the mouse. Butch? Well, obviously, he was the snake. His leather jacket and mannerisms and past actions and _everything about him_ indicated him as such. His eyes actively bore holes into her own, and she felt a burning sensation in her cheeks as he stood there, menacingly, _daring_ her to move.

Suddenly, Beth broke eye contact with him, jolted, and raced towards the gun, Butch quickly matching her pace. She hopped over the barrier, attempting gracefulness, but her boot, catching the barrier, caused her to land flat on her face in a heap. The ice cold floor was chilly when her face collided with it. He already had his hands on the rifle by the time she got back to her feet with a grip so firm, she could make out his whitened knuckles.

“Put it away, DeLoria,” she demanded, stalking towards him and reaching out for her weapon. “Despite what your small brain may deduce, it is by no means a toy.”

He yanked it away from her reach, studying it intensely with textbook-sky blue irises. A tanned thumb rubbed along the plastic gripping, and then the corners of his mouth quirked upward. “Oh shit, square. _Now_ you’re in for it. The Overseer... _girl_ , he’s gonna lock you up _real_ nice and tight for this.”

“ _Give_ it,” she cried almost helplessly, reaching out again, but Butch just smacked her hand away, continuing to inspect the weapon thoroughly and ever so carefully.

“Mr. DeLoria, I–”

“Shut the fuck up, Wood,” Butch demanded, cutting her off. Then, he sternly glared at her with his predatory eyes, attempting to instill fear into the young pharmacist, but knowing for sure that his attempt would surely fail, as it always did _for some reason_ with this _clown_. “How ‘bout that?”

Meeting his gaze, Beth smiled politely back up at Butch. “How about,” she started, inching closer to Butch, slowly and steadily beginning to feel the heat radiating from his body, “you give me my gun back.” She palmed the weapon for a split second.

“ _No way_ , Ginger,” Butch yelped out, popping her on the hand once again. “You have _any_ idea ‘bout the trouble you’ll get in with this piece’a junk?” He took a menacing step forward, leaning down to where their faces were just inches apart. Looking dead into her soul, he made his next statement. “No _way_ Butch is passin’ up the opportunity to throw you, little Miss Mother Mary, square in the pokey.” His gaze shifted from her eyes to the metal targets, and then back to her eyes. “ _Unless_ …”

Bethany understood the idea almost instantly. “ _Oh_ , you have got the _wrong_ idea, Mister Rebel Without a Cause. Contrary to what you might think, _I_ have got some dignity. Teaching you one of my many trades is _not_ on my agenda, and it almost certainly goes against my standards of living. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Bethany attempted to excuse herself, but Butch persisted, stepping closer to her, causing her to back away. He kept taking steps forward and she kept taking steps back until she felt the cool metal of the vault wall press against her back. He put both of his arms up on either side of her like a fence, trapping her against the wall, and smirked. The gun was now positioned against the wall, directly above her head. Bethany turned her head, desperately trying to escape the trap. If she tried to weasel her way out of the web in which he’d entangled her, he would apprehend her. His arms were far too strong to break away from, anyhow.

“‘Kay, Ginger.” He pressed his lips together, forming a thin line. “It seems we have a little problem, don’t we? You got an easy exit, Red.” Butch looked at the gun, excitement peeking through from behind his hardened expression. “I just wanna know _how_.”

“ _Why?_ It isn’t like you’ll ever need to know how to fire a weapon, Butch. The vault is sealed for a reason, you know.” There was uncertainty lingering behind her words. “It...it will never open.”

“Yeah? Then why do _you_ shoot it, genius?” He cocked his head and glared at her inquisitively. “I mean, it’s like you said. Vault ain’t gonna crack open, so why do _you_ wanna know how to shoot, sister? Just ‘cuz you like it?”

Beth sat on that statement, taking it with a grain of salt. Why _did_ she enjoy shooting so much? It was prohibited, useless, and possibly a waste of time. What drew her to the lowest levels of the vault late at night when no one would be around to bother her?

“Peace,” she blurted out unexpectedly. _What?_ But then, she confirmed in her mind that it was indeed the truth. “It’s peaceful to practice shooting, as ironic as it sounds. No one knows I do it except for Dad and Jonas, and I guess _you_ now.” She leaned her head against the wall, sighing in defeat, the gun blocking the contact with the wall. “So I’m always down here in isolation. No one comes with me. It’s my moment of peace and quiet. Or it _would_ have been. Now I’ve been disrupted, and I believe I will never be able to shoot again.”

“So what, you ain’t never thought about what would happen if this place went kaput?” Butch eyed the room. “Shit crappin’ out left ‘n right, and you ain’t worried ‘bout it? I wanna be able to save my own ass if vault life ever goes south.” He lowered his arms, setting Beth free, yet still clutching the rifle. “Me and Ma.” He looked at the floor. “You already know how, so you better show me what you know if you don’t want me snitchin’ on ya for havin’ a weapon.”

“Butch, you’re merely paranoid. The vault,” Bethany started, her statement interrupted by rather morbid thoughts and visions of the vault falling into disrepair. _Going outside._ He was onto something, and she didn’t want to admit it. “Even if that were to happen, we all know that outside–”

“Yeah, yeah, Poindexter.” Butch’s tone of voice shifted dramatically, turning monotonous. “It ain’t safe.” He quickly changed over to a higher pitched tone. “But that ain’t the only point, and you know it. _Radroaches_ …”

“Okay, Butch, okay.” She paced towards him, neglecting to look at him while she addressed him personally. “I understand.”

“You can’t tell me you ain’t never thought about what the world is like outside, Ginger.” He pointed the gun at one of the targets, peering down the sights as if he had any clue what he was doing. “Somethin’ ain’t all that right about the whole ‘stuck down here forever’ bullshit. An,” he paused, squinting as he realized that he didn’t know anything about the weapon. “And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be swindled into submission by some fruity Overseer who don’t know shit.” He craned his head to face her, shoving the rifle out towards her. “So you’ll show me how to work this scrap and I’ll shut my trap ‘bout your bloodthirsty habits.”

“You mean _bother_ me until you’ve gotten it down to a T,” Beth mumbled. She considered her options for a few seconds, settling on the fact that she really only had one choice, and that was to teach Butch how to shoot her BB gun. “Very well, DeLoria.” She snatched the rifle out of his grasp. “Plant your feet firmly against the floor, standing your ground. You don’t need to lose balance and have an accident, even if this is only a BB gun. Pretend that it isn’t.”

Butch rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You kiddin’ me? What kinda gangster _keeps his balance?_ That’s the biggest crock o’ shit, ‘n you know it.”

“Yes, I’m _sure_ you know all about it, _gangster_.” Beth stood behind him. “ _Plant your feet._ ”

Butch whirled around and snorted, giving her a look of annoyance. Of all the people who he envisioned he would have to take orders from, it had to be _Wood?_ All these years of him bossing _her_ around, and now he actually had to listen to the likes of the medicine guru? _Who am I becoming?_ Nevertheless, he decided to comply, but he wouldn’t go down without being stubborn beyond his own comprehension. “You got some nerve, Psalms, talkin’ to me like that.”

“You asked for my guidance, DeLoria. Either accept it or move along.”

“You ain’t got a choice.”

She smirked, shoving the rifle into his chest. “Then neither do you.”

Butch, taking the rifle, grumbled and planted his feet, refusing to look her in the eye in fear of her catching onto his reluctant submission. He looked expectantly at her, studying her soured facial expressions, but unsure of what to do next.

“You’re going to pump the weapon so that there is enough pressure to launch the ammunition. I’ve already loaded it, so you don’t have to just yet. Pull on this.” She pointed at the pump and made an outwardly gesture as if she were pumping the weapon.

“Hah,” Butch snorted, mocking Bethany for the pumping motion she was making.

“ _Pervert_ ,” she mumbled under her breath. “Now then. Look down the sights like you were doing earlier. When you do,” she directed, leaning in to guide his grip, “line the dot in the middle of the two sides up with the center of your target, and when you feel ready, lightly squeeze the trigger.”

Butch did so, and the BB went flying through the air, hitting the wall behind the middle target with a metallic _plink_. His eyes grew wide, and he huffed, throwing his hands up in the air, still gripping the rifle. “ _What?!_ Ah, that’s bullshit!”

“Before you blame me, it’s you. You just need to practice. Here.” Without another word, she grabbed the rifle from him, loaded a BB, pumped it, aimed and shot without a second thought. The BB hit the center of the target.

Butch’s mouth fell open. He was shocked! _Psalms really knows her shit._ How could a girl like Bethany, who he believed to be nothing more than brains and sass, be able to shoot better than he could? In his eyes, it didn’t matter if she practiced more than he ever would. He truly believed that he was capable of performing much better than he had. After all, it was only his first time.

“Unbelievable, Four-Eyes,” he exclaimed, disappointed in himself, yet mildly impressed with her marksmanship. “How’s a blind chick like you got such good aim?”

She repressed a modest grin, replacing it with an uninterested expression. “I’ve been shooting for almost nine years. You learn quickly when you practice every day for nearly a decade, and it just becomes routine. It’s something I’m rather exceptional at, and I do enjoy myself down here alone. I enjoy being able to have control over such a weapon.” She finally let herself smile up at him, watching as he tried desperately to exceed her own score. “That, and my glasses perform rather well in place of my poor eyesight.”

Butch’s eyebrows were knitted together in a tight scowl. He sat on his hip for a moment before reaching out for the rifle again, prying it from her dainty, pale fingers. “Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s better than who once I get the hang of this, and it _ain’t_ gonna be you.”

* * *

**Friday, April 20th, 2277. 1:53am**

The pair awkwardly exchanged turns at the gun in a civilized manner for a couple of hours, disregarding the fact that they both had work early in the morning, but Butch was determined to perform well when it came to shooting, and he had improved over the span of two hours. He gave up the hardass persona after a few minutes as he listened reluctantly to Bethany’s tips and instructions, and listening to her was proving fruitful for him.

There was an underlying bonding feeling that he hadn’t felt with Beth since they were small children, rambling during t-ball practice about how they wished they had been able to get to know their respective deceased parent before they left this world. She always talked somberly about her mother, almost as if she _had_ known her, and it always made Butch jealous of the fact that her father actually gave her the time of day to educate her about her mother and what she was like.

Ellen DeLoria never talked about her husband to her son, and whenever he would bring it up, wondering if he was anything like his father, she would solemnly inform him that he had his face and then steal away to her bedroom and intoxicate herself over a crate of vodka, leaving her young son to fend for himself as she eventually passed out and slept through her hangover in the morning and throughout the day as he got himself ready for class but was too terrified to leave in fear of his mother choking on her own vomit in her sleep and suffocating.

Perhaps Bethany’s closeness with both her father _and_ the spirit of her dead mother was enough to push Butch forward on the path of jealousy, which eventually led to the bullying. Taking it out on her and Amata and anyone else who stood in his way seemed to be the only way he could cope with the fact that he was never able to find answers. But it was far too late in both of their lives for him to apologize for his blatant ignorance.

“Wow, Butch. It appears that you’re a natural after all.”

“For once, Wood? I agree with you.”

“Yeah,” Beth mumbled, attempting to stifle a yawn, but ultimately failing. “Hey, I’m going to head up and get some rest, Butch. I have work in the morning, you know.”

“Y’ain’t hurtin’ my feelin’s, square.” Butch continued shooting at the targets, cursing under his breath each time he would miss.

“You should too, Butch.”

Butch whirled around, facing Beth and taking a mental note of the sleepy bags underneath her eyes. She was right. He had work in the morning as well, but getting better and better at this activity was much more important to him than cutting some lousy vault dweller’s hairs for money. Therefore, he refused. “Nah, don’t think so.”

Bethany let out an exasperated sigh. “Suit yourself, then. Just make sure you place the rifle back in the footlocker and lock it up with the padlock. Just come find me whenever you wanna shoot again, and I’ll come unlock it for you.”

“You sayin’ you got the key?” His eyes moved downward suddenly, eyeing the oddly familiar rosary dangling from her neck. She caught a glimpse of him staring and tugged at it suddenly. “C’mon, Ginger. Gimme the key.”

She shook her head, stepping backwards towards the door. “I’m afraid not. It belonged to my mother. Don’t even think about it, meathead.”

He gave her a devilish grin, abandoning his target practice and stepping closer towards her. “I want in whenever I want in, not when you say so.”

Bethany clutched the crucifix key, knuckles white, and she avoided eye contact with him. “Too bad. It was my mother’s, and you can’t have it.”

Butch reached forward, tugging at the beads. “Too bad.”

“ _It’s all I have left of her. I_ **_wouldn’t_ ** _if I were you._ ” She snapped at him, her deep green eyes baring down into his, narrowing by the second. _Man, if looks could kill._ Butch learned quickly not to mess with her mother. The second she clutched that crucifix was as if she had become possessed by something awful, and it was most prominent in her tone of voice. For the first time in years, Butch DeLoria was intimidated, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

“ _Fine_ ,” he finally settled, pacing back towards the targets. “Keep the stupid thing. The least you could do is throw away those tacky rosary beads, Mother Mary. They ain’t suiting you.”

“Can it, Butch DeLoria,” she retorted, slamming her fist on the door release button in order to exit the room. “Come find me at night. That’s the only time we can come down here.”

With that, the door hissed shut, and Bethany was out of sight. Butch stared at the door for a few moments, wondering what he could have said that would have made things better, but he couldn’t raise anything to mind. He continued shooting peas for hours into the night, refusing to sleep, his mind still lingering on thoughts of the wasteland that awaited them just outside those giant metal doors. _I’d survive out there. Fuck the Overseer._


	3. Hormones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was preparing himself to chunk the book at Wally’s head and storm off before he glanced nervously around the room, eyes landing on Bethany. Sitting at the front, she was the only person in the classroom who wasn’t laughing at him in the slightest. Giving him a sympathetic expression, she gestured lightly with her hand for him to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry if this chapter took a while to upload. I couldn't decide how I wanted this to play out, and I just came home for spring break so things have been a little bit hectic. Don't worry. In the next chapter, things will start to pick up where they left off in the first chapter and I can do with a bit less backstory. (Therefore, longer chapters from the "present" of the story.) I hope you all enjoy! :)

**Wednesday, September 17th, 2273. 10:31am**

The vault’s education system had a certain curriculum that all students were required to learn before the Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test that each child would take at the age of sixteen to determine their place in the vault. The curriculum included general mathematics and grammar courses, with splashes of biology and chemistry added to the mix, as well as the history of humanity and the United States. Art and literature was also covered in class, therefore, William Shakespeare was obviously amongst the many brilliant authors that Edwin Brotch chose to introduce his students to. It was by no means a fan favorite throughout the classroom, but it was something that everyone had to learn about eventually. Classic literature was crucial knowledge for anyone in the vault to possess.

This day in particular marked the third time Butch DeLoria had to recite William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 29 to the entire classroom due to the fact that he had previously refused to take it seriously, goofing off and replacing the words with swears every chance he got. It was after the first two attempts that Mr. Brotch pulled him aside after class and informed him that he would have to attend summer classes if he refused to do it correctly the next day. This Wednesday was his last chance at salvation before he would become the only kid in the vault to be stuck in a room with Brotch all during the summer vacation. So, he clutched the sonnet book to his chest and slowly paced towards the front of the classroom, glaring out over the heads of each and every one of his peers, awaiting Mr. Brotch’s announcement before he could begin.

“And, _yet again_ , here we have Butch to recite _his_ piece of Shakespearean literature, Sonnet 29.”

Truthfully, the sonnets had been hand picked for each student by Edwin Brotch. Each was assigned a sonnet that best fit their personalities, even though he would never admit to them that he chose the sonnets himself rather than via random hat drawing. Butch was _very_ upset at the one he was assigned to because it was just so _lame_ and _Shakespeare is so boring_ and _why’d I get one about love_. Therefore, he had made a cheeky joke of the whole situation, and even after everyone else had presented, he kept having to do so, for if he didn’t take it seriously once and for all, he’d suffer greatly.

Bethany, however, possessed the potential to move crowds with her rendition of Sonnet 147, but due to the fact that almost everyone in her classroom despised her for whatever reason, she settled on moving Mr. Brotch and Amata only. Her melodic voice paired with the accent she had adopted from her father formed the words so elegantly and the tone she chose to implement spoke volumes about her inherited passion for literature.

In comparison to Bethany, however, Butch was downright awful. After every line, he’d glance over at his gang and snicker, the laughs influencing him to replace a word with one more inappropriate, causing him to be sent out of the classroom until everyone else could finish their recitals.

But now, he had to be serious about it. He wasn’t personally worried about his own grades, but his mother Ellen was already made out to be the biggest joke in the entire vault due to her alcoholism caused by severe depression, and having a lousy son would only taint her reputation further, which, in turn, also made _himself_ look bad. That, and the last thing he had in mind for his summer was cleaning blackboards for Mr. Brotch. Clearing his throat, he ran a finger over the lines of Sonnet 29, hearing them in his head first. Then, he began, refusing to look into the audience.

“When,” Butch began, pausing to clear his throat nervously. _A nervous Tunnel Snake. Snakes ain’t nervous._ “When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone be...beweep...my outcast state.”

The sniggering of Wally Mack in the back corner of the room interrupted Butch’s stuttering through his sentences, throwing him off track, and his cheeks flushed a deep red pigment before he scowled out at Wally and Paul threateningly. Wally smirked at him and shook his head, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling in boredom. Paul grinned, propping his head up with jacket-padded elbows planted on his desk.

“An’ trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, an’ look upon myself and c-curse my fate.” He bit down on his bottom lip before continuing in a suddenly monotonous tone, eager to finish up. “Wishin’ me like to one more rich in hope, featured like him, like him with friends possess’d.” His eyes shifted over towards Bethany, who was whispering with her voice low to Amata about something inaudible. Then, he buried his gaze into the book again, too embarrassed to look at his friends, who were laughing at him, and too filled with hatred to look at anyone else.

“Mr. DeLoria, please make eye contact with your audience,” Mr. Brotch suggested in a flattened tone. “It brings life to a presentation. No one likes a boring presentation. I told you this yesterday.”

Wishing desperately to protest, he thought against it and rolled his eyes, focusing on the wall just above Paul’s head before continuing. “Desirin’ this man’s art and that man’s scoop.”

Hushed laughter bubbled amongst the audience like a contagious disease, infecting nearly every student in the vicinity. Butch watched, shielding his humiliation behind a scowl. He glanced down at the textbook and realized that he’d read the word completely wrong, and everyone else knew it.

“ _Scope_ ,” he heard Bethany whisper quietly, and he shot her a stern look, but he took her advice and corrected his mistake.

“Sc-scope. That man’s _scope_.”

She slightly nodded and smiled softly at him as if she were trying to comfort his hidden nervousness. Butch blinked his eyes hard and began again.

“With what I most enjoy contended... _contented_ least; yet in these thoughts myself almost despising.”

Wally clapped Paul on the shoulder and covered his own mouth, attempting to stifle laughter as he desperately tried to stay quiet during Butch’s presentation. Everyone was giggling amongst themselves now, and Butch felt embarrassment and anger beginning to grow by the second. He was preparing himself to chunk the book at Wally’s head and storm off before he glanced nervously around the room, eyes landing on Bethany. Sitting at the front, she was the only person in the classroom who wasn’t laughing at him in the slightest. Giving him a sympathetic expression, she gestured lightly with her hand for him to continue.

Beth’s expression was genuine, for she was truly concerned for her sworn enemy. Bullying was Butch’s favorite hobby after all, but to Beth, that didn’t necessarily mean that he deserved to suffer from it, and _especially_ not at the hands of every student in the class, _and_ the teacher, who _should have_ remained professional despite his personal feelings towards the speaker. She locked eyes with Butch and watched on reassuringly as he began again.

“Haply I think on thee.” His breath hitched, and he felt a somewhat electric charge pulsating through his chest, almost as if he had been smacked by one of the officers’ stun batons. A warm pit began to build up in his stomach as he continually gazed at Bethany’s viridescent eyes from across the room. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “A-and then my state, like to the...lark at break of day–”

Beth flashed another of her signature warm and encouraging smiles at him, her eyes brightening behind her black-rimmed lenses. She did not break the contact they held with their eyes, drawn together like magnets. Butch swallowed hard to finish the verse. “Arising.”

Her eyes became the point of fixation for his attention span. _Anyone else will laugh at me, but for some reason, she isn’t._ He was staring at her without even realizing it. “From sullen earth…”

He never noticed how _green_ her eyes were. It was a pigment he’d always imagined to be staining the grass outside before the bombs fell.

“Sings hymns at heaven’s gate.” Butch’s curious gaze traveled down her neck, following the ceramic and metal rosary beads until they reached the crucifix that dangled just above her breasts. They were hidden away behind all the blue and gold of the Vault 101 jumpsuit. He blinked hard. _Why can’t I stop lookin’ at her like this? Why_ **_Wood_** _? Why is she being so freakin’_ **_nice_ ** _to me? Why is she suddenly so damn–_

“Butch.” Mr. Brotch interrupted his jumbled train of thought. “Continue.”

“Uh, for thy sweet... _love_ …” Butch fixed his gaze back to his book quickly, suddenly not desiring to look at Bethany for a moment longer, and especially not when he had to read _that_ word. “Remember’d such wealth brings...that then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

His last verse of the sonnet rushed, Butch plopped the book down on Mr. Brotch’s desk and quickly took his seat in the back of the room, sitting horizontally from Wally, who was making faces at him. He felt downright humiliated and even more _angry_ from having to read that _stupid sonnet_ in front of the entire class, but he also felt something foreign. Every interaction with Bethany Wood made him feel so... _different_. Even the hostile interactions left an unfamiliar pang in his gut. _Any_ interaction between the two of them there lately made him feel like throwing up everywhere, and he could never figure out why. Continuing to be mean was the only way to keep himself from feeling nauseous every time he looked at her.

After class was over for that day, the Tunnel Snakes met outside the classroom, as it was their usual prowl in that awkward timeframe between the end of class and quitting time for the adults. Wally Mack rested his hand on Butch’s shoulder, cackling almost out of nowhere.

“ _Man_ , that was _bad_ , Butch,” he exclaimed, earning a faint snort from Paul. “There you are at the front of the class sweating and stuttering, and if that isn’t bad enough, staring at that _square_ in the front row _really_ screwed you up.”

Butch slapped Wally’s hand away from his shoulder and scoffed, immediately taking offense to his statement. “Did better than _you_ , ass clown. And as if I’d stare at that _nerd._ I only looked her way ‘cause she kept givin’ me all the lines.”

Wally shrugged, the leather of his Tunnel Snakes jacket squeaking together. His eyes met Paul’s. “Whatever, man. Just looked like you were in a trance or something.”

“Yeah,” Paul interjected, backing Wally’s claim. “Did Mother Mary get your tongue, Butch?”

The two Tunnel Snakes sniggered at their third member, whose face was growing redder by the second. He was about to fire back at them with great wit when Bethany’s unique voice cut in, followed by Amata’s. The pair were giggling about something as they rounded the corner. Amata was stalking close to the far wall to avoid any contact with the Tunnel Snakes, but Beth was close enough for Wally to stick out a booted foot and trip her, and he did so in an instant, the whole gang chuckling as she went flying across the floor, her papers scattering everywhere.

“Awwww, poor little Daddy’s Girl,” Butch taunted her from his position against the wall. “Skin your knee? Daddy gonna hafta kiss it?”

As Amata helped pick up Beth’s things, Beth stood to her feet and charged at Wally violently, a porcelain fist colliding against his cheek so hard, Butch heard a _crack_. Wally staggered backwards, and the two remaining Tunnel Snakes were on her like flies, throwing punches and kicks left and right, and she was delivering them right back. Amata, screaming, took up Bethany’s papers and ran off to seek help while her friend was being ambushed.

“Some nerve _you_ got, _Bad Breath Beth_!”

Bethany ducked as Butch’s fist came flying towards her face directly following his feeble-minded insult. She wrapped her arms around his waist and tackled him to the ground with all of her body weight, feeling a hard fist meet her back. The _nerd_ knocked the breath out of him, despite her being smaller in stature. He began cursing and entangled his fingers in her auburn locks, yanking at the base of her ponytail, which caused her to yelp in pain and land a heavy blow of her own directly to his cheekbone. He let go instantly, and Paul yanked Beth off of Butch, holding her down, while Wally came to help him on the other side. Bethany was flailing uncontrollably, and Butch needed both teenaged boys to keep her from socking someone else in the face.

“ _Fuck you_ , Butch,” she groaned, physically growing tired of the fight already. “Just hit me and be done with it.”

“You think I’m gonna let you off that easy, Triple B? Maybe I got a better idea.”

Wally scoffed, pressing a thumb down into Beth’s bicep. “What’re you talking about, Butch? Get her!”

Butch gave Beth a onceover, his eyes finding hers yet again. The green hue was somewhat calming to his nerves, but her nose was bleeding and her glasses were cracked. He narrowed his eyes and observed as she did the same. Then, he snatched her glasses off of her face, threw them on the ground, and crunched over them with the toe of his boot three times. Beth’s jaw dropped, and she began struggling again.

“I’m going to _kick your ass_ , DeLoria! All I did today was _help you_.” Her words stung him like poison. “You’re a _coward_.” Blood dropped from her nostril to her lips, and she grinned hysterically. “And you _suck_ at reading.”

Butch’s heart sank at her words, but he ignored his emotions and held his ground, still staring at her jaded green. Truly, her eyes were works of art within themselves, so why didn’t they function properly? “And _you_ suck at seein’.” He wound up his fist, unsure as to whether or not he should deliver a blow, when footsteps trailed towards them down the hall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Officer Gomez ripped the Tunnel Snakes away from Bethany, pointing a baton directly at Butch. “All of you Tunnel Snakes can come with me.” Two more officers barrelled down the hall to meet at the scene of the crime.

Bethany clutched her nose and frowned down at her crushed lenses. Amata returned with a pack of ice and urged her towards the clinic. Bethany brushed against Butch’s shoulder as he was being escorted to the interrogation room with his buddies. Their eyes met briefly before the two of them parted. Despite everything, there was still no sign of any form of true hatred towards Butch to be found in Bethany. This frustrated Butch greatly, as the one goal he had for her was to finally get her off his mind for a change, and tainting their relationship seemed to be the only thing that would work for anyone in this vault, so why wasn’t it working for him?

 _Why doesn’t she_ **_hate_ ** _me yet?_

* * *

 

**Sunday, April 22nd, 2277. 10:33am**

Bethany bolted from the chapel half an hour early after her name was called on the intercom, interrupting Stanley’s Sunday morning sermon. She was expected for an unprecedented emergency at the clinic, so she made haste. Sunday morning sermons were important to Beth, but anything stated in the sermon would be located in her copy of _The Holy Bible,_ and she vowed to catch up on it later. If there was an emergency in the clinic that needed _her,_ it must _really_ have been an emergency.

“I’m here, Jonas,” she announced upon entering the clinic, hearing violent coughing sounds coming from the back office. She peered around the corner to observe the situation closely. “What’s going on in here?”

Jonas pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, his mouth shifting behind his mask, and looked onto Beth nervously. “Your father isn’t doing well.”

Her heart sank like an anchor to sand at the bottom of the Pacific. _“What?”_

“His fever is climbing.”

“So give him more ice,” Beth demanded, her tone falling flat. “Cool him down, Jonas. You’ve _got_ to cool him down.”

She pushed past Jonas and speed-walked to the back of the room, expecting to find her father lying in a medical bed. He was there, but three others were laying close by. All of the office’s furniture was pushed aside to make room for more beds, but the office remained cramped. Beth’s mouth fell open when she recognized all the patients. All three of the Gomez family were holed up in the beds coughing up a storm.

“God,” Bethany mumbled to herself. Jonas followed her into the clinic, and she turned to face him. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“It’s worse than _anyone_ thought, Beth,” said Jonas, handing her a clipboard. “They’ve all got the same symptoms, and I don’t know why.”

Glancing over at the trio, then to her dad, she flipped through the clipped pages. “No checks for external damage?”

“Not yet. That’s why I called you in here.”

Beth tapped her crucifix, closed her eyes and opened them again, heading towards the clinic sink. “I’ll do it. Jonas, do you mind going through old files just once more to see if we might have missed anything?”

Jonas nodded and followed her instruction. After Beth had sanitized her hands and put gloves and a mask on, she walked to the nearest bed, containing Pepper, and informed her of the examination she would have to undergo. Once Pepper agreed to the examination, Bethany began the search.

“No lacerations, no rashes, bruises, scratches. Nothing.”

Freddie sat up reluctantly as Beth approached his bed. “You’re gonna... _examine_ me?”

Beth nodded, the red locks in her ponytail bouncing. “Well, yes, Freddie, if you’ll allow it. It’s my job.”

Before she could even begin to explain the importance of the concept and question why he was so reluctant to comply, Freddie cracked and spilled a secret he’d been hiding for weeks.

“I got bit by a radroach.”

Bethany blinked once and stared at the young man in pure shock. She couldn’t figure out what to say in response to that horrific statement. Her mouth fell wide open, concealed behind the sanitary mask, and leafy eyes bore into his behind glass lenses.

“I _know_ I should’ve said something, Beth, but I thought it wasn’t a big deal! I don’t know where it came from or how it got in.” Pausing to cough, his entire face was bright red from the fever. “Then the doctor got sick and I thought it was...just a cold. Then mom, me, dad…”

“Shut up,” Beth ordered, her voice calm and soothing. “Jonas and I will figure this out. You need to rest and stop worrying about this.” She glanced over at her father, a queue of questions forming for him in mind, but the man of the hour was sound asleep underneath his dampened forehead cloth.

Freddie exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, Beth.” There was a beat of silence before he spoke again in a hoarse tone. “Am I...are _we_ gonna die?”

“Just try and get some rest. We'll do everything we can. Let me look at that bite.”

Beth carefully unzipped Freddie’s jumpsuit to examine the bite. On his left ankle rested a big, festering crimson lump where the radroach had bitten him. Beth bit her lip at the sight of the wound, which was clearly infected. It was clear that whatever disease the radroach was carrying had infected Freddie through the bite, but how had it spread to anyone else? She turned on her heel to go back to the waiting room and interrogate Jonas.

“What’s the verdict?”

Bethany shook her head and placed the clipboard on Jonas’ desk. “Freddie is suffering from a radroach bite. I don’t understand how others have caught something if they didn’t get infected.”

“Probably physical contact. His whole family is infected, and it makes sense that James would be sick too, since Freddie has a prescription.” Jonas’ eyes focused on the office doorway, then to Beth. “Say, why don’t you go down to storage and get some more partitions just in case we need them later on? I don’t think this illness is going to be kind to everyone in the vault.”

“You’re right, Jonas,” Bethany admitted, shucking the gloves off of her fingers and tossing them in the garbage. “I’ll be back.”

Bethany tugged at her mask, letting it fall underneath her chin, and whisked away to the storage on the reactor level. All the medical supplies had been stashed away there close to the makeshift shooting range, as Bethany, James, and Jonas were the only three residents who would ever need to retrieve anything from storage for the clinic. No one would prowl down in the reactor level, and therefore no one would be able to steal from the clinic’s storage bins.

Once she found the bin full of partitions and other medical supplies, she popped it open and tried to lift one of the partitions, but it was simply too heavy for her to carry on her own. _Shit. Jonas is busy and dad is sick and no one else can come down here because of the targets._

_Except Butch._

_Shit._

Beth thought about asking for Butch’s help for a few seconds before realizing how bizarre of an idea it was, but it was all she had. She trotted up the steps and took a trip to the DeLoria residence. After three bangs on the door, it slid open, and Butch was propped against the doorway, marveling at the sight of Beth.

“Good God,” he mumbled, chuckling to himself. “Look at _you._ We’re closed, Speccy. Take a hike.”

Just as Butch was about to slam the button to close the door in Beth’s face, she spoke up, grabbing his attention. “Look, I just need your help.”

Butch raised an eyebrow, raising off of the doorway to pop out a hip and sit on it. He crossed his arms. “Okay, _you’re_ askin’ _me_ for help?”

“I wouldn’t do it if I had any other choice, Butch. Do not flatter yourself.”

He rolled his eyes and glared down at her. “What’s the catch?”

“What?” Beth crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the metallic floor. “There _isn’t_ a catch, DeLoria. You’re just,” she began, hesitating before saying her next words. “You’re the only one I can trust with this. Can I come in for a moment and explain what I need?”

Butch glanced over his shoulder into his apartment, then back to Beth, shaking his head. “Can’t. Ma’s passed out drunk on the couch and she’s snorin’ so loud ya can’t hear shit.” He looked her up and down, frowning. “Just say it.”

“Jonas is busy with patients and Dad is sick,” Beth explained, avoiding eye contact with him. “I need help carrying partitions back to the clinic and you’re the only other person who knows about…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. _“The targets.”_

“Why in the hell do you need partitions?”

“Whatever my dad has is also affecting the Gomez family and I’m afraid that anyone else who’s come in contact with this will also catch it. I’ll give you my mask if you’re worried about it. They’re too heavy to carry on my own.” She glanced at his biceps, concealed underneath the leather of his jacket. “And you’ve got strong arms.”

He grinned at her, his eyes trailing to hers as she looked at his arms underneath the jacket. She quickly changed her line of vision back to his eyes.

_“Please.”_

_Her eyes getting me. I really thought I was over this._ “Fine, _fine._ I’ll help, but I wanna shoot tonight, so when we get down there, unlock it.”

“Will do,” she stated, satisfied with his answer. “Come along, now.”

Butch trailed reluctantly behind Beth on the way to the reactor level of the vault, and not long after, they were weaving a path around the big bins of unused clinic supplies. Beth came to a halt in front of the bin she had found earlier and pointed at it. “The partitions are in this one.”

Together, they lifted the metal lid and propped it up against the side of the bin. The six pop-up steel rod and cloth partitions were laid side by side in a long line.

“You need all of these? Yeesh.” Butch began to lift one of the partitions, but Beth cut him off with a sentence of her own.

“Just two. I figured we could pile them on top of each other and carry them up the stairs since they’re so heavy.”

Butch continued, lifting the one pop-up partition over his shoulder with relative ease. “Not too heavy. Geez, Tiny. Can you _really_ not lift these?”

“No,” replied she. “My arms are too weak.”

“Figures.” Butch shot her a smirk and lifted the other one with his free hand. Beth came to help him, and together they were hoisting one of the partitions. “Y’know, I got this feelin’ that you didn’t even need my help. You just wanted to see me.”

Bethany stared down the hallway and began to pull on the partition as he laughed at her reaction. “The last thing on my mind is _you,_ you big brute. I helped you once, and you’re _going_ to return the favor. I don’t do things for _free._  I genuinely cannot carry these on my own and you’re the _only_ person I could bring down here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re forgetting something, Slim.” He stopped and sat their shared partition back on the ground. “Unlock the rifle box before we leave.”

“Right.” Bethany was complying, as was their agreement. She traipsed towards the box in which the rifle lay idle and began the process of retrieving it.

Butch’s eyes roamed and rested on Beth’s tawny locks that were pulled back into a low ponytail tied at the base of her neck with a golden ribbon. They were set in loose waves, trickling down her spine, ending just above the middle of her back. He was staring at her figure from behind, gaping at her lovely shape. She swiveled, facing him, and he caught a glimpse of jade behind glass before bypassing her line of sight and stalking over towards the box she stood next to. He peeked inside, noting that it was unlocked, and heard her ariose voice cut through the awkward silence.

“Now then, let’s haul these upstairs.”

She hoisted the partition up, waiting for Butch to pick up his side, but she dropped it and it fell to the floor with an obnoxious _clang._ Butch snickered and came to her aid, still propping the other partition up on his leather-clad shoulder. “You’re a real work of art, Beth.”

Beth froze in her tracks, scowling up at him as they began to lug the partitions up the steps. “I think you mean ‘piece of work’, Butch. And since when did you call me by _my_ name?”

“Nah, shut up, ugly. I _know_ what I said.”

_What? Why would he say that?_

“What does that–”

Butch abruptly interrupted her sentence, grunting as the partition on his shoulder “slipped” and tumbled down the steps, causing a clamorous ruckus. _“Fuck me.”_ The pair sat the remaining partition at the top of the steps, and he jogged down to retrieve the one that fell.

 _Thank_ **_God_** _,_ Butch thought to himself as he armed up the weighted partition and made his lonely trek back up the stairs. He didn’t _really_ drop the thing, after all. He just needed to get away for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. Why was she suddenly on his mind in _that way_ after all those years?

“Butter fingers,” Beth muttered, glowering at him and picking up her end of the screen.

Surprisingly, Butch did not respond. He was tired already and was ready to be by himself in his room for a change, so the rest of the trip, they carried the partitions off in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are any grammatical errors in this story! I hate when I miss something. Also, constructive criticism is completely welcome! I'm always open to assistance. :)


	4. Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizing what she had done out of her own control, Beth bolted towards the stairs and jogged up as quickly as possible, not daring to look back. His heavy footsteps were not far enough behind her own, and her heart pounded as she weaved her way through the metallic maze, desperately trying to make it home without becoming a wholly digested rodent.

**Wednesday, April 25th, 2277. 5:38pm**

Three days had passed since the discovery of Freddie’s radroach bite, which meant that three days had passed since Jonas and Bethany had built a makeshift quarantine area in the clinic with even more partitions to suit new arrivals and prevent even more. Susie Mack had fallen ill shortly after the Gomez family due to her relationship with Freddie, and her best friend and cousin, Christine Kendall, had followed in her footsteps. The citizens of the vault weren’t allowed in the clinic after the quarantine was built, and Beth operated her pharmacy in the classroom after school hours, as people still needed prescriptions filled. When they didn’t, she was glued to her father’s bed in the clinic, feeding him antibiotics left and right and soaking his body with cold water to drown the fever. Jonas and Beth worked diligently as the primary caretakers of their patients, and were worried for the other citizens. It wouldn’t be long before more people were coughing.

Butch had reluctantly assisted them in constructing the quarantine, causing him to lash out after being ordered around by Jonas. After his violent swings he took at Beth when she stood up to his attitude, Butch stormed out of the clinic and didn’t come back. He took a few days to chill out and make sure his mother didn’t leave their apartment in an intoxicated attempt to sneak vodka into her bedroom from Allen Mack’s residence. Each time Ellen DeLoria left her bedroom, her son was perched on the couch, watching her every movement. Then she’d yell at him for being controlling and he’d yell at her for being drunk and there would be complaints from the neighboring residences and he’d have no choice but to lock her up in the bedroom. He would leave her, her screams and cries for _just one drink_ muffled behind the steel door haunting him as he took some time to chill with Paul, harass citizens in the café and ignore his mother’s poisonous addiction. He felt helpless in the situation, but there truly was nothing he could do for her.

Beth was having a hard time accepting the fact that she was useless in the clinic other than being a nurse. The antibiotics worked a little at a time, but there was only so many doses to give out each day. James was in better shape than he had been in the weeks prior, which was a good sign, but he still had a blistering fever, although it had gone down a small degree. The others’ fevers were climbing in temperature, and Beth and Jonas were aiding them to their best abilities. They asked James for advice, and he gave it, but it’s all he was able to give from the confines of a hospital bed.

Today, Bethany sat at her desk in Edwin Brotch’s classroom in solitary, sorting through the residents’ prescriptions. She had gone over the records of drug usages, checking how many prescriptions had been filled in the past two months, and noticed something odd. There were fewer drugs in the medicine cabinets than there were on record. Her eyebrow raised, and she sat her evening teacup down on the desk to take a closer look. In comparison to the sticky note with the drug count scrawled down in her sloppy writing, a staggering five containers of mentats were missing, but were still present in the numbers.

“What in the…”

She thumbed through the pages, searching for anything that may have lead to a mix up, but there was nothing. Five tins of mentats were indeed unaccounted for. “Perhaps I miscounted…”

Not a single citizen had been prescribed any mentats in _years_ within the vault, and as a result, all the tins were pushed to the back of the drug cabinets because they weren’t being used. Beth stared at the papers in shock before standing up, clipping the papers together, and marching towards the quarantined clinic for a recount. She entered to the sound of coughing coming from all areas of the room, and made a beeline towards the sanitary gloves, tugging them onto her dainty hands, and pairing them with a mask to cover her face from all the germs that may have been floating around. Opening the drug cabinet in the back room nearest to James, who was snoring lightly, she picked through until she reached the back of the cabinet and began counting the stacked tins of mentats. Twenty-seven tins were planted in the back of the cabinet, just as she suspected, when there should’ve been thirty-two. She strolled over to where Jonas sat at his desk preparing a damp towel and tapped on the desk to gain his attention.

“Jonas, a word?”

Jonas peered up at her through his glasses and nodded, placing the towel back into the bucket of cool water. They paced outside the clinic before she relayed her information.

“There’s a thief in this vault.”

Jonas shrugged his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest. “Wouldn’t surprise me, Beth. Although, what makes you say that?”

Her eyes widened and she peered around the hallway before continuing. “There are five tins of mentats missing from the drug cabinet and I _know_ we haven’t used them in years.”

“Not just a thief, then.” He exhaled an exasperated sigh. “A junkie.”

Beth sat on the statement for a moment, wondering who could have committed such a heinous crime. There were many individuals who came in and out of the clinic each day before the quarantine was established; however, James was always situated at his desk, typing away frivolously at the terminal, so he would have witnessed if anyone were to steal from the medicine cabinet because it was across the room in his line of vision. On the other hand, he had been on bedrest for the past couple of weeks. Anyone could have snuck in while Jonas wasn’t paying attention because he was never in the back office unless someone needed an examination. Occasionally, he needed something from in there, such as drugs, but it was usually Beth who dealt the drugs. If he was away for lunch, Beth was holding the fort, and vice versa. Their only chance at apprehending the perp was to keep an eye out. That, or to gain access to the security cameras, but Alphonse would never allow it.

“We should shed light on the situation to Alphonse, Jonas,” said Beth, weighing in on their options. “If we’re able to view the security footage, it may very well be recorded.”

“Right. Like Alphonse is going to let _us_ see it.”

“There’s no harm in trying. I’ll dig around.” Beth turned on her heel, calling down the hallway. “I’ll be in the classroom if you need me.”

Cutting the corner on the way to the classroom, Wally Mack bumped into Beth, causing her to collide with the wall. Instead of continuing on his way, he shot a glare at her and stopped beside her, watching as she dusted herself off.

“What’s so urgent, feeb?”

Bethany brushed her shoulders and rolled her eyes. “Wally Mack, I am _not_ in the mood to deal with the likes of _you_ right now. I’ve got shit to do, so if you’ll excuse me.”

She sidled past him in order to get back to the classroom, but he stepped in, blocking her path. He scowled down at her as she crossed her arms across her chest, the white of her Vault-Tec lab coat rippling with the collision of her Pip-Boy. Beth blinked her green orbs up at him and suddenly uncrossed her arms, using them to push his chest. He staggered back slightly, then chuckled.

“You really think I’m going to move.” His chuckled grin morphed into an angry scowl. “Don’t ever lay a finger on me again.”

“Your sister is _dying_ in the clinic, and you’re worried about bullying me?” The porcelain shade of her teeth flashed at him as she returned is chuckle, flipping her head slightly in order to nudge her fringe away from her eyes. “You’re _pathetic._ Now _move_ out of my way.” She tried again to jolt him out of the way, but he refused to budge.

“You’re lookin’ for a junkie, I overheard.”

“Yes.” An eyebrow quirked upward and her eyes dimmed, studying his facial expressions. He was empty and hollow, but he appeared to be thinking hard about something. “And I’ll find whoever it is.”

He squared his jaw and bit down on his bottom lip. “Have fun convincing the Overseer. He won’t listen to _you._ ”

“Why are you being so _defensive,_ Wally?” His expression fell, and she noticed it. Wally never usually looked so defeated. “Is it _you?_ ”

“You _wish_ it was me, Doc.” He shoved her shoulders harshly into the vault’s wall and stalked away slowly. Beth kept an eye on his lethargic footsteps until he left her line of sight.

“Hmm…”

* * *

 

**Thursday, April 26th, 2277. 3:17am**

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

_“Open up, Wood!”_

Bethany was awakened by the sound of banging on her apartment door in the wee hours of the morning. She’d had a long day prior and was sleeping quite heavily, the left half of her face drenched in drool as she shot up from her pillow at the sound. Rubbing the temple of her head, she slowly sat up and wiped the drool off of her face with the sleeve of her robe, shucking it off to reveal her white cotton tank top. _You’ve got to be_ **_fucking_ ** _kidding me right now._ Her hair rested idly as a tangled heap, dangling from the back of her head. The aggravated woman stomped out of her bedroom towards the front door and crashed her fist into the release, the door flying open to reveal a blurry yet recognizable figure.

Her coral-colored lips parted and her brows furrowed, lips curling into a sneer once she pieced together who was at her door. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Butch? It’s _three in the morning!_ What the _fuck_ are you doing banging on my door? I was asleep, you goddamn moron!”

“Hey, hey,” Butch whispered, rolling his eyes and glancing around in a paranoid state. “Hey, shut the fuck up, will ya? You want this whole side of the quarters hearin’ ya?”

“Excuse _me,_ dumbass, but _you_ were the one banging on my _fucking_ door! Yelling my name like I’m some sort of _pet._ Who do you think you are?!”

“Butch goddamn DeLoria, and don’t you forget it.” He elbowed her out of the way and strolled cooly into her apartment without even as little as an invite. The sleeves of his unzipped vault suit dangled as he trailed towards a medicine bobblehead that was sitting pretty on her coffee table. Light from the lamp she had turned on before opening the door illuminated the white of his tank. “Getcha raggedy ass in here and let me tell you what I want before you wake up the whole damn vault.”

She sealed the door and stormed over to her intruder, hands resting sassily on her hips. Beth looked him up and down. “If you think you’re going to just come into my house without permission, you’ve got another thing coming. I was asleep, and you ruined my rest, now get out of my house before I beat the living _shit_ out of you!”

A tight grip belonging to Beth planted itself firmly on Butch’s tanned bicep, causing him to smack it away. He gripped on her arm and pulled her to face him, looking into her eyes. “You _look_ half asleep with that rat’s nest on your head, and you ain’t gonna do _shit_ to me, so you might as well forget it.” He shoved her away from him, not taking his eyes off of her. “I can’t sleep and I need’ta shoot, now go unlock that for me.”

She sat on her hip for a moment before turning away to walk back into her bedroom. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get the hell out of here, and after that, we’re going to tussle, alright? I even put it into words that you can understand. _Get out of here._ That’s your final warning.”

Butch followed her into her bedroom, causing her to screech and heave a heavy pillow at him in a rather violent manner. He ducked and watched as the feathers exploded across the room on the impact. _Feathers?? Since when did we have feather pillows?_ “Look, square. I got–”

 _“One!”_ Her sleepy voice cut him off as she screamed the first count at him, chucking another pillow off of her bed towards him. This time, the pillow was as normally crafted as his were.

“Wood, if you’d just–”

_“Two!”_

_“Fuck this, dammit.”_ Butch charged towards Bethany and clasped onto her arms, causing her to seize and lash out, kicking at his shins with her socked feet combatively and cursing his name under her breath. Feathers went flying as both of their feet slid across the ground next to where the pillow exploded. “Look, if you don’t unlock this, then I ain’t gonna help you find the junkie.”

 _“What?”_ She calmed down almost instantly. “How do–how do you know about–”

“Half the damn vault knows, moron,” he confessed in her ear, sliding her towards the bed with the lack of friction in her socks. _“Fuck,_ Beth. I know who it is! Unlock the damn box, and I’ll tell ya!”

Beth lamented and grabbed her robe, draping it over her exposed top half. She placed her glasses perfectly over her nose. The rosary chained key lay dormant on her nightstand, and she plucked it up with nimble fingers and padded off to the door once again. Butch followed suit.

“Hey,” he whispered as they snuck down the hall to the reactor level. “Where’n the hell’d you get that feather pillow?”

“I don’t _know,_ Butch,” answered Beth in an agitated voice. “It’s an heirloom or something, alright? A pre-war item my family smuggled in or something.” She sidestepped down the steel stairs, footsteps booming, and continued ahead of him. “And now I’m going to have to cut it open and re-stuff it _again_ because you just _insisted_ on intruding in my home. I had no other form of defense.”

Butch let out a chuckle, following her movements down the stairs. “Ain’t my fault you were dumb enough to think a pillow or two would slow _me_ down, Ginger.” His eyes focused on the sway of her hips as she strode with a purpose in front of him. _She has nice hips._ “I got my ways with crazy broads like you, an’ I ain’t shook by some bag of feathers travelin’ my way, or whatever else.”

His words piqued her attention, and she whipped around to face him, eye-level with his thick neck. She tilted her head upwards to meet his crystal-tinted eyes and cocked her head, puffing out an amused breath. “Really? Name _one_ **_broad_ ** in this vault who cares enough to tango with you besides your own mother.”

It was like a slap in the face to him. Their unfriendly banter had worsened over the years, but this one truly took the cake for him. It sent him over the edge. He frowned, rage growing within his tone of voice. “Oh, wise gal, huh?”

They were having a stare-down. Her brows furrowed and she smirked. “Oh you’re right, aren’t you? She’d sooner tango with _me_ than with you.” Beth pivoted on a socked foot and continued the stroll to the reactor level.

 _“Hey!”_ Butch chased after her with heavy boot steps, catching up to her at the door to the storage room. Yanking her right forearm forcefully, he glowered into her eyes, a fire burning within him. “You got about one more time to crack wise about my Ma, and they ain’t gonna find you _anywhere,_ you hear me?”

She jerked to free herself, but his grip only tightened. “Look, _fuck you_ for waking me up, and _fuck you_ for dragging me down here. You wanna shoot _my_ rifle?!” Blue and green eyes were glued together, causing a static-y feeling in her chest. Butch’s rugged hand, basically wringing her arm, loosened just a hair. “Shove it up your ass.”

Without warning, Beth lifted her left arm and sent it flying towards Butch’s chiseled face, hearing his cheekbone respond with a loud _crack_ as her ancient heavy metal Pip-Boy collided with the side of his head. His eyes grew wide in shock, and within a second, he appeared as if he were out to kill. He tensed up.

Realizing what she had done out of her own control, Beth bolted towards the stairs and jogged up as quickly as possible, not daring to look back. His heavy footsteps were not far enough behind her own, and her heart pounded as she weaved her way through the metallic maze, _desperately_ trying to make it home without becoming a wholly digested rodent.

Once she had made it to her apartment, she whipped around to catch her breath from the race and slam the door shut, but just as she reached the button, Butch came racing through her front door, blood now dripping a crimson stream from his injured cheekbone. He narrowed his eyes at her and slammed his fist on the button, sealing the door behind him and enclosing them both within her lonely apartment. Stalking towards her, Butch unsheathed his hidden switchblade he’d been carrying around since he was a small child. She eyed the knife and pleaded with him to put it away, first with her eyes, and then with her voice.

“Put–put it away, Butch! I–I didn’t–”

Biting on his bottom lip, his glare deepened and he continued his trek towards her. He lifted the switchblade, using it as a pointer to the Beth-inflicted wound he had received only moments before. “You see this shiner? That’s _you.”_

Her back was against the wall, and she crept towards her sofa as he inched closer. “You _don’t_ want to do this.”

He smirked, kicking the sofa with one leg, which caused Beth to be pinned between the heavy furniture and the wall. Then, he knealt onto the sofa and his face was mere units away from her own. His left hand pinned her dangerous Pip-Boy arm to the wall, crossing diagonally in between the two of them. “Oh, I _do,_ Bethie.” He raised the switchblade to her cheek mirroring his own wound, the cool metal pressing into her soft skin. “See this? ‘S my Toothpick. She says hi.”

“Hi, Toothpick,” Beth murmured, squirming within his grip. “Nice to see you. _Again.”_

Chuckling, Butch pressed the metal into her face even harder, with almost enough pressure to tear through the skin. “Oh yeah, that’s right! You’ve met before.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek before speaking again. “Hey, you wanna be twins? I _always_ wanted matchin’ tattoos with a girl, but hey. Matchin’ scars can also work.”

“It won’t even scar. It’s not a deep enough incision. I wouldn’t do that to you, so you’d be wise not to do it to me.”

“So you say, huh?” He studied her face, taking a mental note of the lack of fear in her eyes. It burned him to bits that she’d never been scared of him, and that she’d been the only one in the vault who he was unable to intimidate. “Jesus, what do I gotta do to get a rise outta you, Wood?”

“I don’t know, but if you dig that knife into my face, you’ll be eating table lamp glass chips and your own _teeth_ for the next few weeks.”

“Oh?” He pressed just a tad bit more, and the blade pierced her skin slightly. She winced at the pain and felt as the blood began to drip. “That won’t scar. Now we’re even.” He released her, folding his blade back into place and tucking it away in his pocket for safe keeping. The springs of the sofa creaked as Butch backed off of it, his eyes still peering into Beth’s.

 _“Understandable.”_ Beth kicked the furniture, arranging it how she wished, and wiped the blood away with the palm of her hand. “I _did say_ you were going to be eating lamp, though.”

“Save it,” Butch ordered, stalking towards Beth. He reached his hand out towards her face and she flinched, misunderstanding his intentions completely. He thumbed the incision on her cheek with a thin expression on his face. “I really didn’t wanna do that, but you deserved it, jackass.”

“You deserved _that.”_ She pointed up towards his cheek, now forming a jagged red circle around the cut. “It will turn into a bruise, no doubt.”

“Honestly? I’m countin’ on it.” He continued to dust feather-like strokes over her cut with his calloused thumb, then he applied pressure to try and stop the bleeding. “You’re a real bitch.”

 _“Fuck you.”_ Bethany smacked his hand away and broke their eye contact instantly, padding off towards her bathroom.

“Wait, that’s not–”

_Fuck, Butch. You’ve got a real way with words, don’t you?_

He turned to go after her, but she emerged with a wad of gauze, bandages, and antibiotic ointment in hand.

“What’s all that?”

“It’s called ‘I’m sorry for hitting you over the head with my Pip-Boy.’ _Sit.”_ With a swift flick of the wrist, she pushed him down, landing him a spot on the sofa. “I don’t even know why I hit you, Butch.”

“Because you’re a _bitch.”_

 _“You’re a bitch,”_ she snapped, splaying all the medical supplies out on her coffee table next to the bobblehead. “I don’t know, Butch. Just the sight of your face is utterly _revolting_ to me most of the time.” She dabbed a patch of gauze with the ointment and turned to him, holding it out to his cheekbone. “May I?”

He nodded, and she gently pressed the medicated cloth into his wound. He hissed, as there was a burning sensation upon impact, but after a few seconds, it became soothing.

Her words stung far worse than the ointment had, however. _Your face is revolting. I’m a real charmer._ It made so much sense to him, yet he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she had always acted like she cared somewhat about him. He’d do such awful things to her, and she would retaliate, and then she’d cool off and act almost _nice_ to him. Even now, after he sliced her face open, she _still_ wanted to help him. _Why?_

“Why are you even botherin’ with this shit, then?”

“I wasn’t finished. Geez, Butch, you _always_ cut me off when I’m speaking.” She rubbed the medicine into his cut and breathed in, glancing up for a moment at his disheveled hair. “I said _most_ of the time. But sometimes, I do like to see you, even if you’re an _awful_ excuse for a human being. Sometimes, you just fill my day with excitement.”

His top lip curled into a sneer, and he puffed air after hearing her statement. “Join the club.”

“What I _don’t_ like is seeing your face at _three in the morning._ The very thought of you before seven makes my skin crawl.”

“Yet you’re still playin’ Miss Angel Nurse on me. Why’s that?”

Bethany pressed the cloth to his injured skin, sighing. “Because I did something to you that I shouldn’t have done. Is it that hard to grasp the fact that I have a conscience?”

“Sure.” Butch pawed at her hand, urging it away harshly, and broke the eye contact. “It’s good, it’s fine. _Damn.”_ Butch appreciated the hospitality, and he took to it quite well, but he refused to allow her to figure out that he actually enjoyed her presence. Her soft voice pierced through the waves of his own thoughts.

“Hey, Butch?”

“Yeah?”

“How…” she trailed off, craning her head to the side. “How do you think the world is on the outside? Truly?”

Chuckling, he threw his head back and rested it on the sofa. His eyelids drifted shut. “Pal, we ain’t got enough whiskey to talk about _that._ I’m not sayin’ until I get my fix.”

Beth perked up and grinned. “One second.” She hoofed it towards her bedroom, and he heard her digging in the closet, glass bottles clinking.

_“Seriously, Wood?”_

Her small frame traveled back into the living room, a bottle of amber whiskey and two shot glasses in hand. “You _said_ whiskey. I’ve got scotch, too, for when Daddy comes around. His favorite.”

Butch scoffed, extending a hand to take a shot glass from her grasp. “I really don’t care. Just wanna get drunk. Here.” He motioned for her to give him the alcohol, but she pulled away with a frown, plucking the cap off. Beth poured the whiskey in two swift motions.

“To beating the shit out of each other,” she toasted, forcefully clinking her glass with his. She downed her shot hurriedly, and her eyes shifted, observing as he gulped his own drink.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. “Another.”

Beth poured him another shot, and then raised the bottle to her lips, chugging the contents. The alcohol burned as it trickled down her throat, but she didn’t flinch.

 _“Damn,_ girl.” His eyes widened as she chugged the whiskey. “You sure do got a taste for the shit.”

“Whiskey is my personal choice,” she added, placing it on the coffee table. “I do enjoy scotch as well, though.”

“Like Daddio, eh?”

“Sure. Have as much as you‘d like.”

Butch took the bottle and chugged it down himself, taking a deep breath after the long stream of drink. “It hurts good.”

“Pass it here, now.”

As she reached for the glass bottle, their hands brushed against each other. Their eyes met, and for the rest of the night, the pair drank together in a shroud of silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I never expected so many people to enjoy my writing and I'm extremely happy that it's entertaining for you guys! Forgive me if my uploading schedule is a little frantic. I think after today, I'm going to start adding a new chapter every Saturday to get my story sorted out and make room for improvement. Please let me know what you think in the comments! :)


	5. Nancy (With the Laughing Face)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonas exhaled, quickly standing up and almost running towards the door. “Whatever you’re doing with him, just be careful.”

**Thursday, April 26th, 2277. 8:47am**

_Bang. Bang. Bethany! Wake! Up!_

Bethany jolted, suddenly awakened from her sleep. Her head was pounding, mouth was dry, and vision was blurry as she brought her Pip-Boy up to her line of sight, checking the time on the dimmed screen. Bright green letters read that she had slept through her five alarms, and she was almost an hour late for work at the clinic. _Fuck._

“I’m coming! _Dammit!”_

She stumbled out of her bed and tripped, not realizing the blankets were wrapped around her like a burrito, causing her to fall face down onto the floor. A grunt escaped her throat as she kicked at the blankets to untangle her legs and quickly pulled her robe over her exposed shoulders. The white tank top she had worn overnight was stained amber and reeked of whiskey. She clumsily plucked her glasses from the nightstand beside the bed and situated them atop the bridge of her nose. The bedroom door hissed open as she staggered wearily towards the front door, but she stopped in her tracks once she realized the outline of a man underneath a blanket on her sofa, tanned fingers sticking out and dangling an empty glass bottle dangerously close to the ground.

_“Butch! What in–”_

_“Bethany Wood! Wake up!”_

Butch shifted underneath the blanket and sat up, flinging the glass bottle angrily towards the door before tucking himself away beneath the covers once more. The bottle shattered upon impact.

“God _dammit,_ Beth! Get him to shut the _fuck_ up, will ya?”

 _“Beth–? Was that_ **_Butch DeLoria_ ** _in there?!”_

“God dammit, Butch, what the _fuck_ are you doing in my apartment?!”

_“Open this–”_

Bethany stomped towards the door, careful to step over the broken glass. “I am getting _real tired_ of people banging on my door to wake me up! I’m _coming!”_ She slammed the release, Jonas Palmer’s shadow casting into her darkened living room from the light shining in the hallway.

“Beth, what the hell is going on in here? Why is _Butch_ of all people on your couch?” He stared at the scab, formed onto her left cheek from last night’s scrap with Butch. “What happened to your face? And _why_ are you late to work, Bethany? You’re _never–”_

“Jonas,” Beth cut in, rubbing her temple with one hand and brushing through her tawny tangles with the other. “It’s not what it looks like, for the love of _God,_ I did _not_ sleep with this incompetent man. We just had _far_ too much alcohol last night, and I am currently suffering from a _terrible_ hangover.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow, peering around Beth’s figure to gaze upon Butch’s snoring lump of blankets. “Why were you drinking with–” He paused mid-sentence, shaking his head with a confused look. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t need to know. None of my business. What I _need_ is for you to come to the clinic. _Now._ We have a situation and I _need_ you.”

Bethany glanced over her shoulder at Butch, making sure he was asleep. She turned towards Jonas and began pulling her tangled knots into a bumpy ponytail. “What’s going on in there?”

“More mentats. _Gone._ Two tins.”

“Why is that such a big deal, Jonas? People are _dying._ Who the hell cares about _mentats?”_

Jonas took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “Beth, my grandmother is starting to lose her memory. She _needs_ those.”

“Mrs. Palmer is going senile?” Beth ran a finger through her ponytail. “Come inside, Jonas. Have a seat. I’ll only take a few moments to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

“Not _senile,_ Beth,” Jonas replied defensively, stepping into the apartment and having himself a seat in the chair across from the occupied sofa. “Don’t say it like that, please. It’s just the starting signs of dementia.”

Beth nodded and padded off into her bedroom to quickly prepare herself for the work day. There was a shifting sound coming from the bathroom as she rushed to get herself together.

“So senile, then.”

Jonas glanced over at the sound of the voice, belonging to none other than Butch. He was sitting upright on the sofa, looking over at Jonas with glazed eyes. “Old Lady Palmer’s gone insane, huh? I _knew_ it.”

“Butch,” Jonas started, concern lingering within his speech. Butch cut him off.

“Chill, Palmer. Old hag’s bound to waste away at some point.”

Jonas clenched his jaw, beginning to grow angry with Butch. “You listen here, Butch. She–”

“I’m _fuckin’_ with you, Palmer,” Butch stated in an exasperated tone. “Geez.” He threw the blanket off of himself and stood to his feet, scratching through his greased locks of hair. Yesterday’s pomade stuck to his fingers. This man had also managed to spill drink on his outfit. “You–”

Bethany trudged out of her room suddenly, the pair’s conversation vanishing into thin air. Her orangey-brunette hair was tied back and darkened bags had formed underneath her eyes. She was decorated with her Vault-Tec lab coat and jumpsuit underneath. “Okay.” She turned towards Butch. “Last night you said you knew who was stealing our mentats. Is that information you’d be willing to share with us?”

Butch snorted, walking slowly yet determined towards the door. “Nah, Psalms. I ain’t no snitch.”

“I know all about it,” mumbled the young pharmacist sarcastically. “What do I have to do for you to get you to tell me, then?”

Stopping in his tracks, Butch pivoted on his heel, facing the rookie physicians. Eyeing Beth in particular, he smirked. Their eyes met and an uncomfortable tension filled the air. Her jade irises gave him chills. “Same terms as last night, girly. ‘Member what I said?”

Beth, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, placed her Pip-Boy hand on her hip, cocking her head. Her ponytail tilted with her head. “Oh, yes. I remember the terms _quite_ well.”

Jonas looked on awkwardly. He felt the tension between the two and honestly had no idea what was going on. He shifted in his seat, averting his gaze to the wall as he listened to the conversation.

“So, you gonna do that for me, princess?”

“Oh, _yes._ I’ll do it right now, DeLoria. Won’t you come down with me, then?”

Butch crossed his arms, tapping the illuminated screen on his Pip-Boy. “Yeah, Wood. We’re runnin’ outta time anyway. Gotta go and make sure you’ll actually _do it_ this time.”

Beth stalked towards the door, picking up a handheld broom and dustpan that was tucked away behind a shelf. “So, you’re not going to work today?”

“I’ll go after we get it done.”

“Alright.” She swept the glass shards into the pan and dumped them into her small garbage bin. “Jonas, I’m going go do something for Butch and then I’ll head right towards the clinic to investigate this matter.”

Jonas exhaled, quickly standing up and almost running towards the door. “Whatever you’re doing with _him,_ just _be careful.”_

Bethany scowled at him in confusion. “What? What do you think we–” Suddenly, she realized by the look on his face exactly what he was thinking. His mind was in the gutter. “Oh. _Oh!_ No! _No,_ for Heaven’s _sake,_ Jonas. _Cleanse_ that filthy mind of yours. That isn’t–”

Butch sniggered from the spot in which he was standing, combing through his hair with his fingers. “Yeah, _right._ Left my comb at the house, but we’ll _both_ prolly need it after _this.”_

“Shut _up,_ Butch!” She stomped towards him, trailing off as they both stepped out of Beth’s apartment to head down to the reactor level. “Jonas, I’ll explain later! I’ll be there soon!”

Jonas left the apartment, locking it up behind him in respect for Beth. “Could’ve fooled me,” he mumbled to himself in an agitated tone.

Jonas Palmer was genuinely worried that Bethany, someone he’d valued as much as a young sister, was doing something she would regret, or something that would hurt herself in the process. Butch DeLoria of all people was not someone she usually stuck around, but there lately, they were always in the company of each other. Bickering, sure, but Jonas was there a handful of the times, feeling the awkward tension between them. This brilliant medicinal prodigy was once just a young child that he’d watched with his own two eyes grow into a strong and capable woman. Granted, she grew far too quickly, almost as if she were a weed, but he enjoyed being there to support her and give her a bright new perspective of life that was unique from James or Amata. _He better_ **_not_ ** _be taking advantage of her._

Of course, the reality of the situation was that their paths just happened to cross at the most unusual times of day. That, and now Bethany had a problem with her best friend Amata that had yet to be confronted, Jonas was busy, and James was sickly. Beth had no one to speak to about her own problems. Butch wasn’t the person to come to for comfort or anything of the sort, but he affected her in ways she couldn’t quite put into words. Although he was mean, a bully, and disgusting towards her, he was by no means an _evil_ person. Beth was well aware that Butch had lived a difficult life just as she had. The two of them had much more in common than met the eye, and they both knew it. They simply refused to admit it.

Butch led Beth down to the reactor level and waited without protest as she worked to unlock the lockbox with her crucifix key. He broke the silence with his slightly slurred voice, still suffering from the after effects of early morning alcohol.

“Hey, Wood, you know Palmer is sittin’ in that clinic _right now_ thinkin’ we’re off somewhere fuckin’? Boy, if _that_ ain’t the funniest thing I’ve seen in awhile, him clammin’ up like that.”

“Yes, and _thank you_ for perpetuating the situation even further, Butch.” She twisted the key, the lock clicking loose. “The _last_ thing I want right now is my brother worrying about me snogging with the likes of _you._ Why, he _knows_ me better than that.” With a slight hand movement, the chest containing the lockbox slammed shut. “As do you.”

“True that, little miss Virgin Mary,” Butch teased, watching the hind side of her body tense up as she grew frustrated with his words. “I ain’t never seen a woman locked up so tightly. That key work on you, too?”

Turning to face him, she raised her middle finger and smirked at him. “You’re being _defensive,_ rat. The only reason you feel the need to bring _that_ up is because you’re inexperienced as well. No one in this vault would _dare_ touch you, and you know it.” She trailed off, glancing over towards the shooting range, twiddling her thumbs. “We’re quite the same in that aspect.”

Butch was instantly offended. “What makes you so sure about that, huh? You don’t know _what_ I do in my spare time, creep. I could have anyone in this _entire_ damn vault.”

Bethany stepped towards him, a grin spread across her face. “Is that so? So why haven’t you?”

His brow furrowed in obvious frustration. “I already _have,_ nosebleed. Yeah.” He sat on his hip, suddenly distant from the conversation. Then, he snapped back after his eyes grew wide. _“Yeah._ I have. You don’t even _know.”_ He crossed his arms, averting his gaze to the floor.

“Then why even bother to bring it up?”

Butch had officially run out of excuses to use on her. He was truly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, pointed a finger at her accusingly, and said his piece. “Because I _can,_ that’s why. I don’t gotta explain myself to _you,_ square, so get outta here before I go for round two on your face.”

“Hold the fuck up,” Beth demanded, clasping onto his arm as he turned to travel back upstairs. “You’re in _my_ territory, first of all. And second of all, if you wanted _me_ to leave, why did you start to walk away?” She yanked his arm, pulling him towards herself so that he faced her. “Lastly, you’re forgetting something. I unlocked the damn thing, now who’s the jackass who’s been stealing mentats from my cabinet?”

She felt a sharp _pop_ sting throughout her hand as Butch landed a quick blow directly on top of her pale hand. He raised his hand, as if to slap her, and she looked away, staring at the floor. “Intimidate me all you’d like, _Wally,_ but my question still stands. Tell me who it is.”

“Wally? Why’re you comparin’ me to _Wally?”_

“He likes to raise his hand at me like that,” she stated, turning once again to glare at him. “Only _he_ actually has the _bollocks_ to finish the job.”

Butch frowned. “It’s almost like you _want_ me to hit you, girl. Go ‘head and keep talkin’.”

“I _want_ you to tell me who the _fuck_ has been stealing from me.” She raised a hand of her own and smacked his away. “That’s why I came down here in the first place, remember? We’re wasting time, and time is _money_ we could be making in our respective workplaces.”

“Y’know,” Butch began, rubbing his pinkened skin where Beth had hit him. “I think you can figure it out for yourself, genius. It ain’t rocket science. Who’s the only other smartass of the vault other than you and the good doctor?”

Bethany crossed her arms. “I _knew_ it was Wally. That sniveling little radroach.”

“Guy’s all strung out.” He looked her up and down, debating on whether or not he wanted to prod her for questions about her referring him to Wally. It bothered him a little to find out that Wally had been hitting her, despite the fact that Butch _himself_ always hit her, but to him, that was different. It was their relationship. Beth wasn’t afraid to hit back, and it never seemed to bother her when they fought, because she often acted like it was nothing and that she even sorta _liked_ him sometimes. He finally thought against it, deciding that she was capable of defending herself against Wally, and that it was none of his business to begin with anyway. It wasn’t his place to be upset over something _he_ did too. It would be hypocritical.

“You didn’t hear it from me.” With that, he strolled out the door and headed upstairs to work.

Beth shortly followed, wondering to herself why Butch always looked at her the way he did.

* * *

 

**Thursday, April 26th, 2277. 12:17pm**

Bethany had since informed Jonas of Wally’s addiction, and he personally took it to the Overseer so that they didn’t have to deal with it themselves. Bethany stayed behind and tended to the patients, wondering why Jonas had been gone for so long, but she didn’t worry about him. He was a big boy who could care for himself, and he probably got caught up in some business, calling in witnesses and whatnot, and possibly viewing the security footage. Stanley Armstrong had recently admitted himself into the clinic, and Beatrice volunteered to help Beth with the patients since most of her family had already fallen ill. Steve, her adopted son, was far too fearful of getting sick after having been so nearly all his childhood, so he basically quarantined himself in his quarters. Although Christine was sick, none of the other Kendalls had followed her. Bethany sat near her father’s bed, holding his cold and clammy pale hand as he sweated profusely.

“You're much better than before, but we’ve still got a bit of a way to go,” she spoke softly to him, watching as the corners of his mouth quirked upward to form a smile.

His hazel colored eyes shone as he looked upon his child. “So determined. Your mother would be very proud.”

“I hope so.” Beth pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, pulling a thermometer from her lab coat. “Let’s see how much you’ve improved.”

He took the sterilized glass thermometer in between his lips, tucking it beneath his tongue. After a few seconds, his daughter’s face lit up into a bright grin, and she carefully plucked the thermometer away from him. “Why, Daddy, you keep going at this rate and you’ll be on your feet just in time for church on Sunday morning!”

“That’s my plan, honey.”

“Not quite sure about the rest of them.” She glanced over at the Gomez family, and then out the door to the rest of the clinic where the remaining patients were. “The new ones are just getting started. Thankfully, this isn’t deadly, it seems.” She squeezed his hand. “I really have been worrying about you.”

“No need to worry about me anymore, dear,” he assured her, taking a peek for himself out the door. “They’re the ones you should be tending to.”

She nodded with an empathetic frown. Suddenly, she came to an unexpected realization. “Wait… oh, bollocks. With Stanley ill, who’s going to deliver the sermon?”

“Bethany, darling,” James started, concerned for his daughter. “Lots of people are getting sick. We may very well not _have_ a sermon this week.”

She shook her head, withdrawing her hand from her father’s. “No. If no one else will do it, then I will. It _has_ to be done. It’s very important for a lot of the people in this vault.”

James smiled briefly before coughing lightly. “You certainly _are_ your mother’s child. She _always_ took the opportunity to educate the less fortunate about the Lord. She was very passionate about it.” His gaze seemed distant as he recalled the memory of Catherine. “Very passionate about helping others.” Pressing his hand on top of his other, his face lit up at the sight of Bethany listening intently. “You’ve got her beautiful green eyes and you’ve captured her spirit. Don’t know where you got that hair, though.” He chuckled as he studied his daughter’s wild, auburn waves. “My little sister Nancy had hair identical to your own. I suppose you’ve inherited that from her. She would _never_ let me live that down had she ever met you.”

She concocted a smile similar to his own, but then it faltered slightly. “Daddy, I… I never knew you had a sister.”

 _Oops._ The reason why James had never mentioned his sister was because he didn’t know what to tell Bethany about her. It slipped! He had absolutely no idea how to explain to Beth why Nancy wasn’t in the vault, and he had never thought it out this far. He had failed to tell her about his family.

“She definitely was _not_ my favorite,” he replied with a flat tone. “Nancy and I had… had _very_ different ideas when it came to life in general.”

“Different… exam scores?” Bethany was confused. _Why has he never mentioned my own aunt to me?_

“She… she passed away… shortly before you were born.”

“Oh,” Beth mumbled, giving her father a sympathetic look. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Truthfully, James and his young sister Nancy never really got along until they grew old enough to miss one another. She was eleven years younger than he was, and therefore, was quite spoiled by their parents, but she was also rebellious and wild. As a teen, she would sneak around in their home, leaving to go out and cause chaos with the neighbors. James credited Nancy in his mind when Bethany would lash out around the Tunnel Snakes. That kind of behavior was the infamous Nancy Jean peeking through. At least James was generous and brotherly enough to give his only daughter her middle name.

James didn’t _want_ to lie to his daughter about their origins. He felt obligated, however, to fabricate their backstory, be it as little as possible so that she wouldn’t grow curious over the years. Having to explain himself was one of his biggest fears. The only fear outweighing an explanation of the lies he formulated was losing his only daughter. To James, this was the reason why he had to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s okay, Bethany.”

“Did moth–”

Before she could finish her sentence, a light rapping sounded from behind the wall near the door, metal echoing softly throughout the room. Then, someone stepped inside. Beth’s eyes narrowed as she looked upon the figure.

“Amata.”

Amata’s chocolatey hazel eyes drifted to the floor. “If you aren’t busy, Beth… my dad was looking for you. He sent me here.”

“Really?” Bethany adjusted her eyeglasses and stared at Amata unamused. “Jonas is with him. I’m sure if he wanted me bad enough, he would send _Jonas_ after me. He’s been in there for enough hours as it is.”

“That’s why he sent _me._ Jonas… is busy.” Amata twiddled her thumbs as Beth studied her carefully.

“Thumb twiddling is one of the signs that Amata is _lying._ I am _not_ speaking to you yet.”

“Beth,” Amata pleaded, her tanned skin glowing as she stepped further into the fluorescent lighting. “We can’t keep doing this! I _need_ to talk to you. You’re my _best friend._ This is insane!”

“Bethany,” James cut in, his English accent fluttering as he spoke. “You should at least give Amata a chance. She was always there for you.”

“Not _always.”_ Beth glared over at Amata. “Not when she _slandered_ you over the intercom.”

 _“Beth,”_ Amata whined. “That’s _not_ what I meant.”

“It’s okay, Amata,” James cut in, giving her a genuine expression of sympathy. “It doesn’t bother me one bit. I know you meant well.”

Bethany scoffed, shaking her head. “Yes, I’m _sure._ How could anyone possibly _mean well_ by speaking ill of someone? _I_ never do. Get out of here before you get sick.”

“Beth, _please!”_

“Get _out!”_ Without another word, Bethany violently hurled a dampened fever towel directly towards Amata, causing the young brunette to dodge it swiftly. She quickly scurried out of the clinic with a defeated sigh, tears welling near the edges of her bottom eyelids.

James blinked up at his daughter and studied the disgusted sneer that formed on her face. It was almost as if he were looking in a mirror when he looked at Bethany. She had inherited his face almost entirely, her sharp nose pointing outwards, yet slightly turned up. It fit perfectly with the shape of her face; high cheekbones, short, pointy chin and tying it all together was the softness of her jawline.

Beth’s mouth shape was also an obvious product of his own creation. She had his upturned pouty lips and the corners of her mouth sat quite low, but were always pointing upward. Her mouth had the appearance of a weak smile most of the time, due to the shape. Her lips were a rosy pink and plumped to match the rest of her features.

The shape of her eyes matched with the roundness of his own, but the largeness of them had come from her mother’s femininity. Her arched brows sat low on the bone, appearing almost as if she were annoyed at all times. The mossy green shade came directly from Catherine. They sparkled identically to her mother’s whenever she found hope in something.

And that determination, that _defiance_ and unwillingness to forgive and forget over something that didn’t even affect _her,_ but her _family_ was something she had taken from her mother’s very _soul_ that she couldn’t even begin to understand. The passion for her family and sense of being couldn’t easily be replaced.

“She was only trying to make her father proud, Beth.”

Beth shifted, squaring her jaw. “Yes, well.” Her gaze floated across the room to where Freddie rested. “There are other ways to do it than to degrade other people.” She looked down at her fingers and began picking at her nails. “Dad, when I want you to be proud of me, I want you to be proud of _my_ accomplishments… and _my_ opinions. Whether they take after your own or _not…_ shouldn’t have anything to do with it.” She scanned her father’s face for any sign of agreement. “I want you to be proud of… who I’ve become. But on my _own._ Not based on what _you_ want, or anyone else.”

James nodded his head, struggling to reach over for a glass of water. He took the cold glass in his hand and sipped the cool drink before placing it back on the bedside table. “Well, it just so happens that you turned out _just_ the way I wanted you to. On your own, and I _am_ proud of you. Even if you do some things I disagree with.”

Bethany placed her hand on her father’s leg, giving it a gentle squeeze before trudging over towards the doorway. “I’m going to go care for the others and help Beatrice a little bit.”

“Stay clean, darling. We don’t want you getting sick, too.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She gave her father a soft smile and wave before ducking into the waiting room to assist Beatrice with the newly contaminated dwellers.

Beatrice greeted Beth with a weak expression before handing a dampened towel to her. She was caring for her father to her best abilities, but his coughing persisted. “Good afternoon, sweetie.”

Bethany accepted the towel and sat by Christine’s bed, pressing the cloth to her face to cool her fever. “How is Stanley?”

“Worse,” Beatrice said in a soft tone. “But not terrible.”

Sighing, Beth continued to press the cloth on Christine’s head. “She’s sound asleep, bless her heart. I feel _awful_ for all these patients.” A loose strand of orangey brown fell from her face, irritating her view. “I really need to cut my hair. I will if I ever get some time off.”

The older woman grinned at Beth, observing the way she cared diligently for her niece. “Why don’t you go take your break right now? You’ve been at it all morning, Beth. You deserve some time to yourself.”

Beth stared at Beatrice with a confused look. “Are you sure? I’d only be gone an… hour.”

“Of course, dear,” Beatrice replied happily. “I can take care of them. The ones in the back aren’t as bad, anyway.”

“Why, thank you, Beatrice.” Bethany excitedly raced out the door, somewhat eager to pamper herself, but also feeling nervous, for whatever reason. “I’ll bring you some lunch on the way back.”

With that, Bethany trailed towards the vault’s salon, trying to picture in her head what she wanted herself to look like an hour ahead of time. _Do I want to even have hair anymore? Should I just chop it all off? Or should I settle for a bob or something along the lines?_ It was like flipping through a magazine in her mind, but she would get the physical copy into her hands soon enough.

The salon entrance loomed ahead of her, and she suddenly realized why she felt so anxious about coming out this way. Her _favorite_ childhood bully was working his magic behind the glass of the window, a barbershop pole twisting endlessly as he clipped away at Stevie Mack’s ‘do. _Oh._

 _I almost forgot about_ **_him_** _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to upload and that I haven't set up a schedule lately! Things are pretty hectic this semester and I've been putting off a lot of work. I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the others! I will get a schedule planned out here in the next few days for this story, so I'm terribly sorry for any inconsistency! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave constructive criticism if you wish and let me know what you think about my work in the comments. I will actively reply! :)


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